


Rosetta

by Sae_Ulfr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arthurian, Dementors, First War with Voldemort, Gen, London, Major Original Character(s), Mind Control, Multiple Personalities, Nature Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sae_Ulfr/pseuds/Sae_Ulfr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The First Wizarding War has reached its darkest hour. When the Order of the Phoenix is broken, who will be left to carry on the fight?</p><p>For Eva Coppice, it was never meant to be like this. She was meant to be the Order’s newest recruit, battling the Dark Lord alongside Dumbledore’s finest, most experienced agents. But on the night she heads into London to begin her training, she walks straight into the aftermath of the Death Eaters’ most deadly attack – and finds the Order crippled, captive, hopelessly defeated.</p><p>Now Eva must throw in her lot with a trio of the most unlikely allies. A lonely Ministry researcher, haunted by riddles from his past and searching for a long-lost friend. A violent, drug-dealing girl whose mind is divided between many personalities, some of them much less friendly than others. And a certain Remus Lupin, sole survivor of the attack, last man standing from the fallen Order.</p><p>Together they must race against time to prevent a calamity they can barely understand: the release of the mysterious Rosetta, a power that will wipe out all resistance and finally win the war for the Dark Lord. But the night is full of secrets – and Lord Voldemort might not even be the only enemy on their trail …</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eva

**Author's Note:**

> "Harry Potter" is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling. "Rosetta" is intended solely for entertainment and is published under an attribution, non-commercial, no-derivatives Creative Commons license (CC BY-NC-ND). This means that anybody can reproduce it, but they must credit me as the author, may not alter the work in any way, and may not use it for commercial purposes. I am neither making nor seeking any financial gain from this work, and do not intend to infringe any copyright held by J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, or Warner Bros. "Rosetta" is also published, under the same title and author name, at Wattpad.
> 
> A new chapter of Rosetta will be published every fortnight on Sundays. Reviews and comments are always welcome.

When the owl came for the third time, it brought the summons.

            The scratch at the window roused Eva from her reverie and brought her scrambling, suddenly alert, off the bed. She dashed, half-stumbling, across the unlit room, and jerked the window upwards in its stiff white frame. Poised, steady, the familiar, small black bird hopped inside and fluttered to sit atop the only chair. Where Sestia had found a jet-black owl, Eva had never known. But it suited her. In fact it was perfectly, perfectly Sestia. The way the owl turned its gaze on Eva with that piercing, confident scrutiny – completely unreadable, and just a hair’s breadth shy of confrontational. Sestia was like that.

            And now, after weeks of waiting, Sestia was contacting her again.

            The owl held out its leg, and Eva quickly undid the little cord and lifted off the envelope. As soon as it was in her hands, the owl launched itself off the chair and swooped back out the window, into the overcast semi-darkness of the late afternoon. Back to Sestia. And to be sent, no doubt, to bear some other message to some other soul.

            Somebody, maybe, who worked with Sestia. Somebody who was helping her. Working with her. Fighting with her …

            Still standing, impatient, Eva ripped open the letter and pulled out a single sheet of parchment. The message was only a few lines.

            _“No. 1, Peter Street, Soho. Come and meet me here tonight, an hour after sundown. They’ll want to question you, Eva, so be ready to hold your own. But we need you. I think I’ve got you in.”_

            The last words rang in Eva’s head. She stood stock-still, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. It was happening. At last it was happening. She had been summoned.

            She was going to work for the Order of the Phoenix.

 

It had been a long, empty two months since Eva had graduated from Hogwarts. She had little interest in any of the dwindling number of career paths that were on offer in this embattled world. The summer of 1981 was a bad time to be young. The Ministry of Magic – paranoid, combative, and ever less and less able to hold down the rising tide of the Dark Lord’s insurgency – would certainly have taken her, just as it took every halfway clever new graduate willing to walk through its doors. And Eva believed she had it in her to be an Auror. She certainly had the grades. But to submit to the compromised authority of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? To endure a hastily truncated few months of brutal combat training, and be summarily sent out to die fighting monsters and Death Eaters for a government she barely believed in? Eva was not a fighter. Nor was she a risk-taker. Sestia might not tell her much anymore, but she had dropped enough hints to let Eva know that the Ministry was no longer safe. He Who Must Not Be Named had woven his web of spies very carefully indeed.

            If things had been different, she might have gone into wilderness work. That, if anywhere, was where she belonged. Care of Magical Creatures and, especially, Herbology had been the only subjects she ever looked forward to in school. Eva hated the heavy walls of Hogwarts Castle – the chilly stone that shut out the birds and the grass and the rain, and the dust that hung thick in the air of every classroom. But in the humid, dirt-streaked greenhouses, bent over the greenery in some leafy, vine-hung corner, she could plunge her hands into the soil, run her fingers along the tender stems of the newly-sprouted herbs, and feel a rare serenity.

            Her classmates learnt to leave Eva to her own devices. They came to take her for granted: a small, solitary figure hunched over the plant life at the back of the class, completely engrossed. Eva’s skin was pale, almost sickly, and it was tinged, in the right light, with a distinct and unsettling shade of green. Her hair was long and dark and tangled, and anybody who peered too closely might see that it, too, concealed strange green streaks that were nothing to do with any magic or hair dye. The more sensitive of her fellow students could all feel it: there was something weirdly and unsettlingly different about this scowling, reclusive girl. Most of them avoided her; those few who tried to make friends found her cold and indifferent. Eva was careful to cultivate the ability to be ignored. She wanted no attention. She wanted no entanglements. And for the most part, even, she wanted no friends.

            The exception was Sestia.

            Like Eva, Sestia Cavanagh was in Slytherin. Like Eva too, she was a natural loner, and hostile to those she did not trust. But Sestia was two years older, and already, when Eva arrived at Hogwarts, she was capable of insights and judgements that escaped the uncertain first-year. Sestia heard the whispers that followed the strange little girl, and so she quietly turned her attention onto this intriguing new Slytherin. She was swift to recognise that Eva was clever and quick-witted, but that her confrontational nature, combined with the aura of weirdness that she could not help but project, would provoke cruelty and persecution that might well persist through the long seven years of her life at school.

            And so, choosing her moments with care, Sestia began talking to Eva. She could easily have done more: at age thirteen, Sestia’s reputation as a duellist was already established. Had she made it known that to pick a fight with Eva was to pick a fight with her, then the little green girl would have met with few troubles. But that was not Sestia’s way. Instead, she let Eva learn from her – not how to fight, but how to avoid it. She showed her, calmly and seriously, how to remain detached from the lives of her peers. And so Eva began learning the lessons that would last her through her time at Hogwarts. She learnt the habits that would keep her undisturbed and even, mostly, unnoticed. And in so doing, she made the first and last true friend she ever found at that school.

            When Sestia graduated, Eva hoped that the two of them would remain closely in touch. And indeed, for a time, the letters from Sestia came regularly. The older girl had moved to London, and was working, Eva understood, for some kind of private intelligence agency. Detective work, almost. Well, Sestia was certainly suited to that.

            And it wasn’t like there wouldn’t be plenty of employment in that line of work. As the 1970s drew to a chilly close, the disappearances, the disguised massacres of Muggles, and the sudden, mysterious attacks on all the institutions of the magical world were rapidly multiplying. The confrontation that for so many years had simmered uneasily beneath the surface of wizarding life was now swelling into open warfare. Terrorism haunted the streets of Britain, and no witch or wizard anymore could sleep easily in their bed.

            As the war intensified, Eva heard from Sestia less and less frequently. When her letters came, they gave very little away. But little by little, Eva became aware that Sestia was not simply working in private espionage. She was directly involved in the fight against the agents of the Dark Lord. And yet, she wasn’t working for the Ministry of Magic. She was working for somebody else – somebody who was pursuing an independent campaign to expose and destroy the hidden enemy. The same man who had presided over their lives, distant but watchful, for as long as they had studied at Hogwarts together. Sestia was working for Albus Dumbledore. Sestia was working, Eva discovered at long last, for an organisation called the Order of the Phoenix.

            And so, when the time came for Eva to leave Hogwarts herself, she knew there was only one place she wanted to go. She moved immediately to London, and she sent Sestia the most important letter she had ever sent: the letter asking if she could join her, and work alongside her in the same mysterious Order. Sestia’s reply offered only the barest of encouragement. “Wait,” said Sestia. “I will talk to the others. I will write to you again when I know.” And so Eva found herself an unobtrusive job in a small shop on Knockturn Alley – enough to pay for a tiny, dingy flat in the northern suburbs. And she waited. London made her weary; those endless grey streets that smothered the earth laid a heavy weight on her soul. She made no effort to furnish her flat, refusing to concede that this was more than a temporary stop-gap in her life. She passed much of her free time in a local park, doing little more than wander on the grass and sit listlessly on the low branches of the trees. A second letter came from Sestia, telling her she was hopeful, but the Order was under pressure and fewer and fewer people outside it were trusted. Dreary and oppressive, the summer dragged on.

            And then suddenly, that fateful afternoon, the letter finally came. The moment was here. Eva sensed, at last, that her life was about to begin again.

 

Night had fallen thick and black under a clouded sky, and the yellow glow of the streetlamps was all the light that fell on Eva. She moved swiftly through the city, staying close to the walls, keeping always to the shadows. Her small face peeked out from beneath the hood of her coat, watchful and mistrustful. The Muggles who passed her might not know it, but Eva was keenly aware that danger might lurk around any corner. She moved southwards into the city towards the West End, the noise and bustle of the Thursday night growing thicker around her, approaching closer, ever closer, to Peter Street.

            A million thoughts revolved in her head. Whom would she meet tonight? Would they be strangers to her, or would there be men and women she recognised from Hogwarts in the years above her? And this questioning – what would they need to know? A tremble of fear fluttered, half-repressed, in Eva’s breast. What kind of questions would they ask her about her … her _difference_? About the things she could do, that other witches and wizards could not? She wasn’t stupid – she was well aware that the uniqueness of her abilities might well be exactly why the Order wanted her (though how much did they know? had Sestia shared her secrets?). Just how much about herself might she have to reveal, and in front of strangers …

            She was in Soho now – it would not be long. Just keep it together, she told herself, as she turned down a narrow, high-walled alleyway. There was a figure coming down this alley from the other end; that was fine, there were lots of people out tonight. You’re going to stay calm, she insisted to herself as she kept on walking forward, and you’re going to knock on the door of that house, and you’re going to be confident and ready for anything because that’s what they’ll want to see. Eva took a deep breath and shuddered for a moment as she walked. Just ahead of her, a few short paces away now, the other figure passed under a lit window, and the light fell on their face.

            Eva glanced at them automatically. Then she stopped – a bare four feet from the other person – and started, and turned, and stared. Abruptly, the other stopped too.

            “Diana?!” Eva gasped.

            The short red hair, those piercing blue eyes – yes, it was unmistakeably her – Diana Urquhart, Ravenclaw, always top of the class, and they had graduated together not two months ago – but _the way this girl looked at her_ –

            “What did you call me?” Diana’s sharp, clear voice rang out. She was staring fiercely at Eva, and in her expression there was a panicked, aggressive hostility.

            “Um …” said Eva, taken aback. “Sorry, I … Diana, it’s me, it’s Eva –”

            “Don’t call me that!”

            “Okay. Okay –”

            “I’m not Diana. Don’t use that name!”

            Eva stared. There were scars – two deep, ugly-red scars running down one side of Diana’s face, that had not been there before. But it wasn’t just this that unsettled her. As the girl stared, incredibly intent, into Eva’s face, her expression showed not a single trace of recognition. It dawned on Eva, quite suddenly, that Diana had absolutely no idea who she was.

            “I’m sorry,” said Eva carefully. “I’m sorry I used the wrong name.”

            The girl stared for another moment, then seemed to relax a little.

            “Are you buying?” she asked, suddenly.

            “Er – what?”

            “Did you want to buy?”

            Diana – or not Diana – was now looking vaguely curious, and puzzled.

            “No,” said Eva. “No, I’m not buying. What are you selling?”

            “Whatever’s your fix. I can get you the best.”

            Eva blinked.

            “That’s … okay, thanks,” she said slowly. “I’m fine.”

            Diana paused, and then nodded. She was still watching Eva carefully.

            “Well, I’ll see you then,” said Eva. The hair was prickling on the back of her neck.

            “Yeah,” said the other girl, shortly.

            The two of them looked at each other for one more moment. And then Eva turned, and the other girl turned too, and both of them walked on, the way they had been going.

            Eva was shaken. The whole exchange had felt disturbed, unsteady, weird. And what in the world had happened? Either, she thought, Diana had lost her memory … or there was a being walking the streets of Soho who was wearing Diana’s body.

            She shivered. Best to report the whole thing to Sestia. Yes, that was the right course to take. Something very wrong, perhaps the work of dark magic, had happened to Diana. The Order needed to know. She would tell them – she would tell them very soon – as soon as she got to Peter Street.


	2. Silvanus

He knew just two things about the Order of the Phoenix: his last remaining friend was working for them, and they could be reached at No. 1, Peter Street, Soho. So that was where Silvanus Helga was going.

            Figuring out even as little as that had not been easy. The Auror Wayne Hastings had been missing for more than forty-eight hours now, and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – difficult for outsiders to deal with even at the best of times – had apparently gotten nowhere with its own investigation of what might have happened to one of its most capable agents. Silvanus had gone there that evening when he finished work, taking the rattling gold-caged elevator one level up from the Committee on Experimental Charms, and determined not to leave until they let him conduct his own search of his friend’s abandoned cubicle. They had refused at first, of course. Silvanus did not have anywhere near the right security clearance, and besides, they had professional detectives on the case – who did he think he was, this obscure researcher from a poky office downstairs that nobody cared about?

            But Silvanus was stubborn, and he had one good card he could play: he had known Wayne better by far, and for longer, than anybody else in the country. Were they not, after all, the only two members of the Talon Five who were still at large? This observation might provoke some eye-rolling, but underneath the Assistant Departmental Secretary’s world-weary shrug, Silvanus could tell there was still a reluctant respect. Even those who had been at Hogwarts many years after the Talon graduated had heard the stories. The circle of exuberant Ravenclaw prodigies, who between them had dazzled both staff and students with their exceptional talents just as much as with their frequent and flagrant rule-breaking, was a firm part of the school’s folklore. Of course, Silvanus had always been the least flashy one of the group. He was steadier by nature, and had done much to keep the other four from crossing the line into serious truancy (good-natured truancy though it doubtless would have been). And this was all a long time ago now. In the sixteen years since, Robert and Florentia had got married and gone to study magical creatures in the Far East. Then, several years ago, had come the disappearance of Evanthe Moonshine. The Talon’s greatest risk-taker, driven equally by intellectual curiosity and by a wild love of adrenaline, Evanthe had simply vanished overnight, and not a trace of her had been heard or seen since. Wayne and Silvanus had both taken time off work and hunted for her, but to no avail. It had hit them both very hard – Silvanus, perhaps, especially.

            So now that Wayne too had seemingly vanished without a trace, Silvanus was adamant that this time his search would not be fruitless. And the best way to start looking was to study whatever Wayne had left on his desk. So there he was, insisting to the Secretary that his lifelong association with Mr Hastings might allow him insights that were not possible for the Auror’s mere _colleagues_ , and that she should, therefore, permit him the chance – under her supervision if necessary – to have a look around his cubicle.

            And at last she had relented.

            One wall of Wayne’s cluttered space was stacked, from floor to ceiling, with unsteady piles of folders and sheafs of parchment, and several dozen more were strewn over his desk. On another wall, a slew of papers and photographs had been pinned to a large board with clusters of arrows drawn between them. The Assistant Secretary stood protectively in front of this display while Silvanus examined what Wayne had left behind.

            “What was the White Wyvern attack?” he asked her tersely, glancing up from the desk at the title that Wayne had scrawled across the top of the pinboard.

            “I can’t talk about that, sir.”

            Silvanus grimaced. He knew the White Wyvern; it was an ill-frequented pub on Knockturn Alley. Maybe it would be worth paying a visit when he was done.

            “Is there anything Wayne was working on that you _can_ talk about?”

            “Mr Helga, there’s really very little I can tell you about operations that Mr Hastings was assigned to. And you can’t look at those, sir.”

            Silvanus had shifted to one side the pile of memos that had landed on Wayne’s desk since the disappearance – little paper aeroplanes still folded into their pointy-nosed shapes, unread – and was starting to peer at the documents underneath them. He paused.

            “Mrs O’Leary, if I am not permitted to see what Wayne was in the middle of when he was … interrupted, then there is probably very little I can tell _you_.”

            “Yes, Mr Helga. But Mr Helga …”

            She stopped, and gave him a small, but sympathetic smile. “You know I can’t let you look at those files, sir.” And the expression in her eyes told him the rest. We both know you’re not really here to help me with my investigation, her expression said. We both know you’re here because you care about your friend. And I’m sorry for you, and that’s why I’ve let you in. But there’ll be no reading of classified documents for you, Silvanus.

            Silvanus straightened up, and turned stiffly away from her, staring in distraction at the opposite wall of the cubicle. Among a mass of other papers pinned to that wall there was a photograph. As Silvanus’s eyes came to rest on it, he felt the breath catch in his throat. The warm Spring sunshine fell on him and his four dearest friends, as they sat on a green bank of grass in the Hogwarts grounds, the lake glittering peacefully in the background. There was Florentia leaning lazily against Robert, the two of them grinning out at him as Robert waved. There was Silvanus himself, cross-legged on the grass beside them, smiling, confident, happy. There was Evanthe, gazing out at him from under the curtain of her long brown hair, a glimmer of mischief in her bright eyes. And there was Wayne, lounging on the grass in the centre, looking so young – they were all so young – as he shot a rakish grin towards the older, sadder, real Silvanus, who was standing before the photo, letting himself stare. There they all were: the Talon Five, shortly before they left Hogwarts. Before they went out into the world and were called to their separate ways. Before it all started to go so wrong. Before his friends began to disappear.

            Swallowing hard, Silvanus began to force himself to tear his gaze away. It was then that he saw it.

            Pinned immediately below the photograph was a piece of parchment. On it was a design, several inches square, composed of small angular lines of black ink. Almost Runic, and yet more abstract, more like a pattern than an alphabet. To anybody else, it would have looked like little more than an odd, somewhat austere decoration. But to Silvanus it was something else. It was a message – a message written in the code that Silvanus himself had developed during their third year at Hogwarts, for communications among the Talon Five.

            _“If you’re seeing this, my friend, I’m guessing I haven’t shown up for work in a while. Could be I’m just busy. Could be something worse. But if I know you, you’re going to want to come check for yourself. Well, try asking for me at No. 1, Peter Street, Soho. That’s where I work for real now – has been for some time. We’re called the Order of the Phoenix. Watch your back, Silvanus.”_

            For a moment he was transfixed. After a few seconds, he became aware that the Secretary was speaking again. With an effort he turned back to her, his mind working very quickly, and held up a hand for her to stop.

            “Mrs O’Leary,” he began, “I am sorry. I shouldn’t be taking up your time like this, and I can’t ask you to show me anything that might really help me. I think I should leave you be. I’m going to need to do this on my own.”

            She gave him a curious look. “Sir … is there something –”

            “Thankyou, but no.” And he smiled at her firmly. “I won’t trouble you any further. Shall I see myself to the elevators?”

            And so it was that he found himself walking rapidly through London, the sky above him black and starless, on his way to pick up the trail of his comrade.

 

The night was warm. Silvanus had thrown on his dullest, drabbest set of robes before leaving his house in Shoreditch. Around his neck hung a Muggle camera – kept tucked out of sight beneath his robes, for this was not an accessory to his non-wizarding façade, but an item of genuine importance. Silvanus liked being able to keep records that didn’t change on their own. Some years ago he had acquired this device and modified it to be immune to the magical disruption that generally affected Muggle technology in the presence of wizards. Now, wanting to be ready for anything, he carried it with him. Silvanus walked swiftly, and among the Muggles he looked plain enough to attract comparatively few curious looks. It was a dark night, and nobody paid him much attention.

            Nobody human, in any case.

            Over the rooftops above Silvanus’s head, gliding silently along the brickwork edges and tiled precipices of the city, went the glowing, silver shape of a wolf. It followed a little distance behind him, moving effortlessly. It seemed to be made of smoke, and it was lit from within by an ethereal white light.

            After a short while, the wolf seemed to make a decision. As Silvanus turned a corner and headed down a dark, deserted narrow street, it moved a little way ahead of him. Then it turned, and bounded silently down onto the pavement, coming to rest directly in front of him.

            Silvanus stopped, and several thoughts went immediately through his head. He recognised the creature as a Patronus. He did not recognise it as the Patronus of anyone he knew. There did not seem to be any other wizards around, so either somebody was hiding, or this Patronus was apart from its caster.

            The wolf was standing motionless, staring at him.

            “What do you want?” asked Silvanus, after a moment.

            The wolf turned, then looked back at him and motioned with its head. The gesture was clear: it wanted him to follow.

            Silvanus hesitated. He had a job to do, after all. But this was very, very unusual, and despite himself, he found that his curiosity was aroused. Besides, it wasn’t the way of Dark wizards to use Patronuses. So he nodded, and he followed the wolf as it padded off down the street ahead of him.

            The Patronus did not lead him far off his course. As it moved ahead of him, frequently bounding up and slipping through treetops and over roofs to avoid the sight of Muggles, Silvanus found he was still being led into the West End, across Charing Cross Road, into the jumble of Soho. Then they turned a corner, and they were in Soho Square – a small, wooded area of unlit green, bounded on four sides by tall dark housefronts. The Patronus leapt over the low iron railing, and padded over the grass to the centre of the square, where there was a small pavilion. There, it stopped.

            Silvanus moved cautiously. He could see very little. He drew his wand, and scrambled awkwardly over the railing. Then he moved forward slowly beneath the trees, watching all around him, the wand in his hand gripped tight.

            The shape of a man in a long, dark trenchcoat emerged beside the Patronus. Silvanus could just make out his face in the wan, silvery light. He was young. He clutched a wand. And he looked deeply, deeply scared.

            “You are not her!” he cried, staring at Silvanus. “You are not her at all!”

            Silvanus stood very still, his heart thudding. “Not who?” he called.

            The man did not answer, but turned and looked searchingly, desperately, at his Patronus. Then he looked back at Silvanus, his eyes wide, his expression fearful.

            “I am an ally and a servant of Albus Dumbledore,” the man declared. “Are you my friend or my foe?”

            Silvanus swallowed. “I suppose I am your friend,” he replied.

            The man stood still for a moment. Then he took several slow steps towards him, the Patronus at his side. He spoke more calmly, but still his voice trembled.

            “What is your name?”

            Silvanus considered, then chose to be forthright. “Silvanus Helga,” he stated.

            The man stepped forward, and stuck out his hand. “Remus Lupin.”

            They shook. And then crouching down, and looking intently into the wolf’s face, Lupin spoke urgently to his Patronus: “Go back out there, and keep looking. Find her. Please, go now, find her and bring her to me!”

            The wolf turned, and sped silently away into the night. Lupin straightened up, and looked back at Silvanus.

            “Mr Helga,” said Lupin, “I don’t know who you are. But my Patronus trusts you, and right now that’s all I have. I need help. I am –” he hesitated – “I am afraid I am a desperate man.”

            Silvanus nodded, slowly. “What help do you need?”

            Lupin looked him in the eye. “Mr Helga,” he said, “Do you know anything about the Order of the Phoenix?”

            The words sent a shockwave through Silvanus. “I know only the name,” he replied.

            “Then there are two things I need to tell you about it. First, the Order of the Phoenix is a secret society founded and headed by Albus Dumbledore, with the purpose of combating Lord Voldemort independently of the Ministry of Magic.”

            Of course. Of course it was. That was exactly the kind of initiative Wayne would be drawn to.

            “And second?” Silvanus asked.

            “And second … the Order of the Phoenix no longer exists.”


	3. Hunters in the Night

Silvanus stared at him. The clouds above were shifting, and a little moonlight was slipping through – enough to see the haggardness of Lupin’s face, and the hopelessness in his eyes.

            “What do you mean, no longer exists?”

            “Less than an hour ago, there was an attack on our headquarters. Right here in Soho. As far as I know, I’m the only one who wasn’t captured.”

            Silvanus’s mind spun. “No. 1, Peter Street?”

            Lupin started. “Yes … but you said –”

            “Is Wayne Hastings a member of your Order? Was he there? Is he –”

            _Captured_ , Lupin had said – the only one not _captured_ – not dead – that was better than dead –

            “Yes,” said Lupin. “Yes, Wayne is one of us. Wayne was there. He fought.”

            “Fought?” repeated Silvanus urgently.

            Lupin looked at him bleakly. “I didn’t see him killed,” he said simply. “He’s not one of those I saw dead.”

            Silvanus felt his body shuddering. Hold it, he told himself urgently. There’s still hope. You can help. Maybe you can help.

            Lupin was speaking again. “The Death Eaters were taking prisoners. They weren’t trying to kill us all; they wanted captives. I don’t want to think about why. But lots of us were taken. And there were others.”

            “Others?”

            “Other attacks. On our other safe-houses, around the country. We got distress signals. It was simultaneous, and they knew – they knew everything – they knew where we were, they knew how to get in …”

            Lupin gazed blankly into the night. After a moment, he frowned, and glanced at Silvanus.

            “You know Wayne, then?”

            “Yes,” said Silvanus shortly. He was trying to ignore the hollow, aching space that had opened up inside him. “Yes … if you know about the Talon Five …”

            A flash of understanding passed over Lupin’s face. “Silvanus. Yes, of course. _That_ Silvanus.”

            “I was looking for Wayne,” Silvanus told him. “I found a message he left me, for if he ever disappeared. Wayne hasn’t shown up for work in two days.”

            Lupin looked at him thoughtfully. “Maybe he wanted you to come and find him,” he said quietly.

            The two men stood there, neither of them speaking.

            “Mr Helga, we are broken,” said Lupin at last. “Right now the Order is paralysed, very possibly forever. Very possibly dead. But this is not Lord Voldemort’s final move. I have reason to believe …”

            “What?” asked Silvanus.

            “I have reason to believe there is worse to come,” said Lupin. “Something much worse. Something massive. And I might be the only one who can stop it. Mr Helga … I cannot do this alone.”

            Everything had gone unstable. Wayne was captured, the Death Eaters were ascendant, the night around him felt suddenly vast and cold and full of pain. And the future that lay ahead seemed darker by far than it had ever been. Silvanus’s attention fell to the familiar weight of his wand in his hand. It had been so, so long since he had used it for anything other than research and daily chores. He had almost never been in a serious fight – not a fight for life and death. He felt as though he were being plunged into a deep, freezing lake, and anything might be in there with him, and he could not see the bottom.

            But there were going to be greater disasters, Remus Lupin had said. More people were going to suffer. More people were going to die. Wayne had been trying to save them. And now Lupin needed help to save them too.

            Silvanus looked at Lupin, and forced his voice to sound firm. “Alright,” he said. “What has to be done?”

            An expression of immense relief and gratitude passed over Lupin’s face, and the look in his eyes was all the thanks Silvanus needed.

            “There is a girl on her way to the Order headquarters right now,” said Lupin. “She is a new recruit – a protégée of one of my colleagues, Sestia Cavanagh. Tonight we were going to ask her to join the Order. She’s due at Peter Street very soon, and she has no idea she’s walking into the hands of the Death Eaters.”

            “So you need to intercept her.”

            “Not just that. I need to ask her to help me. I’ve never met her, but according to Sestia this girl is made of strong stuff. And with the Order down, we need the best help we can get.”

            Silvanus nodded. “You sent your Patronus out to find her.”

            “And instead it brought me you. That’s a good sign – if my Patronus sensed that you’re a good man, then that’s good enough for me. But Eva is still out there – and unfortunately, according to Sestia, she’s very good at not being noticed. The Death Eaters know I got away –” and Lupin glanced compulsively around the square, his eyes searching the shadows – “and they are patrolling the streets. But I can’t hide here any longer – it’s too close to the time. We need to find Eva.”

            Well then, thought Silvanus. This is it.

            “What does she look like?” he asked, more brusquely than he had intended.

            Lupin looked slightly helpless. “I don’t really know. Apparently she’s … green.”

            Silvanus paused. “Green?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well. This is going to be interesting.”

 

Some streets away, at that moment, a red-haired girl walked down an alleyway and found herself confronted with a name she did not want to hear.

            Her body stopped moving and pivoted to face the small green person who had just passed her.

            _Friend_ , said Elizabeth.

            _In need_ , said Joyce.

            _Confused_ , said Martin.

            _Civilian_ , said Charlotte.

            _Body_ , said Zachary.

            _Mudblood_ , said Randall.

            “What did you call me?!” said them all. For none of them – not one – liked being called Diana.

            _I don’t know what that word means_ , said Martin to Randall with some concern. Then he realised the new person was speaking to them again. _What did we say?_ he asked.

            _Nothing yet_ , said Joyce.

            “Don’t call me that!” said Charlotte. _That’s what we said_ , said Charlotte.

            _It’s cringeing_ , said Zachary.

            _She’s backed up_ , noted Charlotte. _Put her weight on her back foot_.

            “I’m not Diana. Don’t use that name!”

            _She’s scared!_ said Joyce. _Stop!_

            _I’m cold_ , said Elizabeth quietly.

            _We have a coat_ , said Martin.

            _Still_ , said Elizabeth. _The damp_.

            _Pussies_ , said Zachary.

            _Don’t be crude_ , said Joyce. _Don’t be rude_ , said Martin, simultaneously. And the other person was saying something. She was saying she was sorry.

            _See?_ said Martin. _She’s sorry_.

            _Good_ , said Elizabeth. _Good_ , said Joyce. _Good_ , said Charlotte. _Good_ , said Zachary. _Good_ , said Randall.

And there was silence.

            _We’ve been silent for a while_ , said Charlotte.

            _Allow me_ , Martin cut in. “Are you buying?”

            _Make a sale_ , said Zachary. _We need money_.

            _Muggle shit_ , said Randall.

            _Well that won’t help_ , said Martin. “Did you want to buy?” he went on, for the other person seemed confused.

            “No,” said the other person. “No, I’m not buying. What are you selling?”

            There was some consternation.

            _Let me handle this_ , said Martin. “Whatever’s your fix,” he answered the other person. “I can get you the best.” And he remarked happily, half to himself: _Jesus Mary and Joseph, I love our Boston accent_.

            _Quit before the psychos notice you’re happy, Martin_ , Charlotte warned him.

            The other person was talking. “I’m fine,” she concluded.

            _We need to let her out of this_ , said Elizabeth worriedly.

            _She’s not looking for us_ , agreed Joyce.

            _Any of us_ , said Charlotte.

            _All of us_ , said Randall. There was momentary confusion. _What?_ said Randall. _I may be new in here_ –

            _And racist_ , said Joyce.

            _But I know how we work_ , said Randall defiantly. And the other person was speaking again. She was saying she would see them later.

            “Yeah,” they all said.

            And paused.

            And then they walked away, and so did the other person.

            _My feet hurt_ , said Elizabeth.

            _All our feet_ , said Martin.

            _This is how it works_ , said Charlotte.

            _Yes_ , said Joyce.

            _And we need to move on_ , Charlotte continued. _We’re getting nowhere_.

 _What if that girl could have helped us?_ wondered Elizabeth.

            _Don’t be imbecilic, Elizabeth_ , Zachary told her. _She looked every bit as lost as you poor fucks_.

 _That’s plenty from you, Zachary_ , said Joyce calmly. _We can only keep on keeping our eyes open._ _We’ll know the right leads to follow when we find them_.

 _I’m just scared of the trail going cold_ , Charlotte told her.

 _What would you have us do?_ asked Zachary coldly. _Shout our mission from the rooftops?_

 _Well,_ began Randall with bitterness, _you lot basically DID THAT_ _back in the_ –

 _I think we need to take some downtime_ , Elizabeth cut in. _We’re all a bit high-strung._

            Randall and Zachary laughed at her. But Joyce, Charlotte, and Martin all agreed, and they said so.

            _At ease, everyone_ , said Charlotte.

            _Shall we saunter off to our own corners?_ said Elizabeth, as if with a smile.

            _Take me to our corner, darling_ , said Joyce. And it was like she took Elizabeth by the hand and twirled her round and brought her close. And it was like they slipped away.

            _Later then_ , said Randall.

            Zachary gave only a discontented kind of shudder like a growl. But he too slipped away, and so did Randall.

            _Martin, you’re on duty_ , said Charlotte.

            _Yes ma’am_ , said Martin happily.

            The red-haired girl stood on a street corner beneath a lamp post. Her pockets were full of chemical surprises. She was on the look-out for customers. For Martin, inside her head, it was almost like being his old self again.


	4. Peter Street

Eva was finding it difficult to settle her nerves. The encounter with Diana had shaken her, and now, hyper-alert, she felt she saw danger in every neon-outlined shadow, and sensed malevolence in the face of everyone who passed her. That woman in the long fur coat – she was dressed too richly for Soho – what was she here for? That ragged-haired youth in the denim jacket, striding past her – was he on his way to a gathering of the Dark? Eva was too suspicious ever to assume that Muggle dress meant Muggle identity. Walking rapidly through the narrow, brick-walled streets, her right hand gripping her wand in her coat pocket, she let her eyes rove keenly over everyone and everything in sight.

            It was as well that she did. For of the many men and women on whom her attention briefly seized, the one who mattered would not have seemed at all unusual to the more casual eye.

            He was a man who looked neither especially young nor noticeably aged. He wore a long, old-fashioned black coat; but so did plenty of Muggles around him that night. He was standing on a street corner smoking a pipe, gazing abstractedly into the distance, for all the world as though he cared nothing at all for the movements of the nightlife on his every side. Later, thinking back, Eva could not have said what made her slow down, ever so slightly, when she saw him; what compelled her to rest her gaze on him for just that fraction longer than on anybody else she had seen. Perhaps it was that vaguely Eastern European look that he bore – something that Eva, whose own heritage too lay beyond the Elbe, was more sensitive to than most. Or perhaps it was a stranger, deeper instinct than this.

            But whatever made her look at him for those few seconds, there was no mistaking what she saw next. Quite suddenly, as though moved by an instinct as obscure as hers, the man’s eyes flicked straight to her, and for one moment they stared each other in the face. His hard dark eyes were cold, and watchful, and cruel.

            Eva quickly looked away, and walked straight on. She was several paces away, across the street, acutely conscious of the man behind her. After a moment she let her gaze slide back over her shoulder just enough to see him.

            Calmly, unhurriedly, the man was snuffing out his pipe, and turning to follow Eva.

            At once she knew she had to turn aside. The last thing she could do was lead this man, whoever he was, to Order headquarters. If she showed up at their door only to cry for shelter from an unknown pursuer, she would lose their respect right at the very outset.

            As soon as she could then, although Peter Street was only one or two turns away, she took a left and headed in the other direction. Quietly, steadily, the man behind her turned too.

            Eva’s heart beat faster. She would always have chosen to hide or run rather than fight, but somehow she doubted whether she could shake this man off. Nevertheless she would try – any chance of escape was better than combat. If only she weren’t surrounded by city! Her best chance was to head back to the alley where she’d met Diana. At least it was dark enough there that she could try to make a break.

            She never for a moment let herself lose track of the man as he followed her. He was six or seven yards behind, walking quite openly, confidently, as though he were fully in control, as though he had nothing in the world to fear. Slowly but surely, he was gaining on her.

            Eva turned into the alleyway, walking back the way she had come. The brightest light was the wash of yellow from the lit window halfway down, where she had recognised her old schoolmate. Just past that window, where she wouldn’t be silhouetted in its light anymore, that would be where to –

            A cold voice spoke behind her.

            “ _Stupefy!_ ”

            Eva flung herself aside just in time, and the blast of red rushed past her. Her wand was out – she was rolling, twisting, the pavement cold and hard beneath her –

            “ _Stupefy!_ ” the man was yelling. “ _Petrificus totalus! Stupefy!_ ”

            She was far too visible – writhing like a snake, escaping every spell by a hair’s breadth – she needed to fire back – it was they only way she’d hold him off –

            “ _Stupefy!_ ” she yelled, flat on her stomach, her wand pointed straight at the dark figure of the man above her. “ _Tarantallegra! Petrificus totalus! Stupefy!_ ”

            The man had dodged, and she had just one moment to scramble to her feet and duck back, then to fire again, backing away, yelling every curse she knew – and he was firing too, and they were both ducking and weaving, he advancing, she retreating, blasts of red light flashing all around them.

            The alley had been a stupid decision. She had no way out of the combat. She would have to risk a less conventional move.

            Her wand still gripped in her right hand, Eva raised her left. She spoke no words. But out of nowhere, suddenly, a mist as thick as a rainstorm poured into the alley. Dense white fog swirled like a python around Eva and her attacker, and then spilled outward and upward, filling the space. The bright red flashes of their spells were suddenly diffused, brief red patches of light, muted in the mist.

            Eva lost no time. She turned and sprinted, bent down low, and she could hear his footsteps running after her, but he could not see her, and here was the end of the alley –

            She darted to one side, past a bright neon shopfront, and slipped straight between two Muggles who were running towards the mouth of the narrow lane. There were, she realised, quite a few people coming – they had heard the shouts and the bangs. All the better. She could disappear on the other side of the little crowd that would gather. She would lose her pursuer: she was gone, gone into the night.

            Behind her, Igor Karkaroff dashed out of the alley. He almost collided with several Muggles who had stopped to stand and peer into the blank wall of mist. Cursing, he shoved them aside, staring frantically around, disregarding the several more people who were converging on the scene. He made no move to put away his wand. The Muggles might just as well not have been there at all. Ignoring the questions, the shouts, the few hands that reached out to try to stop him, he pressed forward, past them, and strode rapidly away.

            He paid no attention to the red-haired girl who had rushed here with the rest to see what was going on. But she certainly paid attention to him. Inside her head, somebody had recognised him.

 

“Mr. Lupin, this mist is not natural.”

            “You’re telling me.”

            They could not see each other. The mist had barely lifted. Silvanus stood very still, passing his wand slowly in complicated patterns through the air, and murmuring quiet incantations. He was trying to diagnose the causes of this strange phenomenon. Lupin, his wand lit, was on his hands and knees, tracing the scorches and blast marks that had been left on the pavement. He was tense, and he was moving rapidly. They were vulnerable, they could not see, and an enemy might strike them at any moment.

            “No, that’s not what I mean,” said Silvanus. His brow was furrowed. “This isn’t even the result of a weather spell. It doesn’t seem to be wizarding magic.”

            “Then I suggest we get out of here right now,” answered Lupin, scrambling to his feet. “There was a fight here, but we’ve no way of telling anything more.”

            “Very well.”

            They turned, and headed quickly out of the mist. Sick, deep fear showed in both their eyes, but neither of them spoke. The same few thoughts were hanging in the night air between them. If Eva had been here, had she gotten away? Or had she been abducted into darkness, even as they searched? And in the streets around them, who else was on the prowl?

 

Eva was not certain she had lost him. But she was certain enough to head for Peter Street again. She sensed that if she stayed on the streets, someone else would find her. There were hostile wizards out tonight, and she did herself no favours by giving them more chances to cross her path. Better to move while she could, and try to reach the shelter she had been told to seek out.

            Making herself as small and dull and hard to notice as she possibly could, she circled slowly around through Soho, taking weird and deviant routes. Eventually, about ten minutes after she’d escaped her attacker, she found herself slipping quietly up a narrow lane called Walker’s Court, which let her, at long last, onto Peter Street.

            It was dirty, and brick, and there were not many people around. Grimy-windowed shopfronts had closed up for the night – for this corner of the district had been bypassed by the neon and nightlife, the happy Muggle music drifting over from nearby bars and cafes, that made all the surrounding streets seem brighter and warmer. Peter Street was little more than a stretch of unlit doors and streaks of graffiti, dour and lifeless in the midst of the city. To Eva’s right, the street went on a little way before finishing where it hit a broader, brighter avenue at right angles. To her left, it wandered on a little longer, crossing another little street, before ending in a shadowy cul-de-sac – high-walled, and the pavement littered with Muggle waste overflowing from a large, squat rubbish skip. The hair stood up a little higher on the back of Eva’s neck. As she peered at the numbers on the shopfronts opposite, her heart sank. Number one was to her left – down there in that ugly, dark little hole.

            Swallowing hard, she turned and headed down towards it, keeping close to the walls. Halfway there, she crossed the smaller road – also dark, also mostly deserted – that intersected with Peter Street. And then there was just ten yards of trash-strewn street ahead of her, with no turn-offs; and at the end, a wall. High above, rows of blank, unlit windows stared down out of the bare brick walls on either side. Thick, dull metal pipes snaked up the walls at several points. At ground level there were only small, blank doors – the back ends of shops, and the anonymous entrances to what were doubtless grim and dingy rooms.

            Eva’s heart was pounding hard. Her every instinct was telling her to turn back … and yet where would she go? Back to her horrible room in north London? Perhaps giving up the chance to work with Sestia, to have the future she wanted? No, that she could not do. She had been told to come to No. 1, Peter Street, and here she was. She would find the door, and she would knock.

            She stepped forward, skirting around the rubbish skip. Once beyond it, she was just six yards from the blank wall at the far end – a bare and ugly stretch of soot-streaked grit. Eva peered at the small doors on either side, looking for a number one. But then, as she did so, she felt a tingle. She froze, clutched her wand, and glanced quickly around: there was nobody to be seen. And then suddenly, with a shimmer and a ripple, the view ahead of her was transformed. Where there had been just the concrete pavement at the end of the tarmac, there now appeared a wide and grand set of steps, coalescing into solidity with a wash of glittering sparks. At its top, where there had been just blank wall, there was now a door – and not a low, unadorned door like the others in this cul-de-sac, but a broad, high, shiny black door, with a brightly lit arched window above it, and a glowing lantern. A large, ornate number one was set in bronze upon this door.

            And emblazoned across it, burnt into the wood with fiercely glowing streaks of green, was a giant, grinning skull, with a fat snake sliding tongue-like out of its mouth.

            Horror and panic rang suddenly in Eva’s head. Her throat suddenly tight, her every nerve blazing with fear, she whirled around.

            The alley behind her was no longer empty. Standing nonchalantly between her and her escape was the Eastern European man in the long black coat. Calmly, he smiled at her – and his smile sent her stomach into a twisting, sickening spasm. Then before Eva could react, she heard a sound from behind her: the click of an opening latch. And light suddenly flooded the pavement, as the door to No. 1, Peter Street was opened.

            Eva turned around.

            Standing in the doorway was a tall, thin man with sleek black hair. There were other figures behind him, silhouetted against a harsh bright light. The man in front, a wand balanced lightly in his right hand, stepped elegantly down towards her. He had a thin, pale, refined face, and he was looking at her with faint, amused disdain.

            “Miss Eva Coppice, I presume,” he said. “I don’t believe we’ve met – my name is Dolohov. I know I’m not the person you were expecting to greet you, but she is not –” he gave her a smirk – “ _available_ anymore.”

            “What have you done with Sestia?” breathed Eva.

            “I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of the interrogation on this one, Antonin,” said the man blocking Eva’s reatreat in a smooth, oily voice. “I had quite the turn with her earlier tonight.”

            “Oh, interrogation will be for the captain, Igor, as you very well know,” smiled Dolohov. “But I’m sure we can allow you a little satisfaction … not that your efforts have turned out to be necessary, of course, now that dear Eva has so obligingly come to give herself up.”

            A rough male guffaw sounded from one of the figures in the doorway. Glancing behind her, Eva saw a scowl pass briefly across the man named Igor’s face.

            “Why don’t you come inside, Eva?” said Dolohov silkily. “This is your destination, after all.”

            Eva grit her teeth. A desperate string of options was racing through her head – climb the walls, break past Igor, attack Dolohov, attack nobody, summon mist again, do nothing but wait for them to move first. One thing she knew: she was not stepping through that door.

            “I’m not moving,” she declared. More laughter sounded from the open doorway. “If you want to get anything out of me,” she went on, “You’re going to have to make me.”

            “And you’re gonna have to deal with me first!” rang out a strong, American, female voice behind her.

            Eva turned to see a blur of movement streaking past Igor, who was lunging to intercept it, but moved too slowly. Darting past him, past Eva herself, and hurtling directly at Dolohov – red-haired, scarfaced, something sharp and shiny clutched in her hand – it was Diana, and she was grappling with Dolohov, twisting away from the curses that were suddenly flying from the top of the steps –

            Eva darted aside, set her back against the skip, and raised her wand, but Igor had turned his wand back on her, and their eyes locked –

            “Don’t you dare move!” he hissed at her. “Don’t you dare move!”

            “Hold your fire!”

            That was Diana. Eva looked back at her, and saw Dolohov doubled over, Diana clutching him from behind, her hand at his throat, and pressed against the bare skin of his neck she was holding not a wand, but a knife … no, not a knife – smaller, sharper … a word flickered up in Eva’s head, dimly recalled from a Muggle Studies class many years ago. _Scalpel_.

            “Who is this girl?” roared one of the men from the doorway.

            “Hold your fire, Karkaroff, or dear old Antonin gets it! Same goes for you lot up there!”

            For a moment they hesitated. But the girl was not armed with a wand, and the only other threat, Eva herself, was still held at wand-point by Igor Karkaroff. With a harsh shout, suddenly one of the other Death Eaters came leaping down towards them.

            And a blast of red from above hit him squarely in the chest.

            Startled, terrified, Eva glanced above her. Bathed in moonlight on the rooftop high above stood another man, his wand raised.

            “Silvanus, move!” he yelled.

            Suddenly, everyone was moving. The Death Eaters were scattering down the steps, and curses were flying upward, around, at Eva, at Diana, at the man above. Diana had pulled Dolohov to the ground and twisted him to face the doorway, a human shield. For one moment Eva saw her whispering in his ear, and a look of terror was flashing across his face. But then Eva was moving too, raising her wand to parry curses from Karkaroff; but the man above was firing at Karkaroff too, and he could not focus on her.

            Then yet another man was rushing in from behind Karkaroff, and he grabbed her by the arm. “Come with me!” he said to her, panicked and desperate. “We must get out!”

            Eva turned to run. But as she did so she heard a yell of triumph. Spinning back around, she saw Dolohov scrambling to his feet, away from Diana. Beset by attackers, she had at last drawn a wand; and in that moment, she had given him the chance to struggle free. He was turning, vicious-faced, all his attention now fixed on the red-haired girl. He was raising his wand.

            Unthinking, Eva lifted her left hand and pointed a single finger. White and bristling and with a sudden rush of freezing wind, a shard of ice, sharp as a razor, shot like a bullet towards Dolohov, and speared into his face.

            He screamed and staggered to one side, and Diana was jumping to her feet.

            “Look out!” yelled the man who had Eva by the wand arm, and he pulled her backwards, raising his wand in front of her as several more blasts of light shot towards them. She saw him counter three, maybe four curses in a single complex movement, his wand visibly shuddering with the force of the protective magic coursing through it.

            “You with the scalpel!” he yelled. “Follow us!”

            There was a blast from above, and a tumble of brickwork came crashing down into the street. Eva twisted and ducked behind the skip, but not before she saw Diana rolling neatly aside as several of the men stumbled backwards, arms raised over their heads. Looking up, she saw that there were two men on the rooftops now – and one of them, the newcomer, was sending spell after spell at the man who had been there first, not caring how much masonry he blasted apart in the process.

            Eva darted back out from behind the skip – and found herself face to face with Karkaroff. Unthinking, immediately, they both raised their wands.

            “ _STUPEFY!_ ”

            She was the smallest fraction faster. She hit him squarely in the chest. Karkaroff was thrust back off his feet by the force of the curse, and fell in a heap onto a pile of bricks.

            She sensed someone else getting to their feet behind her, and whirled around. It was the man who had helped her, the one who had yelled for Diana to run with them. As he pulled himself upright, a blast of terrible green light streaked past his head. The Death Eaters were aiming to kill.

            “Come on!” he gasped. “Let’s get out!”

            As if at his signal, out of the dust behind him leapt Diana. She was moving as fast and as smoothly as a cat.

            “Angel!” she beamed at Eva.

            The three of them turned, and sprinted back down Peter Street, ducking and dodging as they ran, blasts of red and green light now shooting after them. As they reached the first crossroads, with a crash and a shower of dislodged tiles, the man who had defended them from the rooftop came half-climbing, half-falling down the steep roof of the corner shop. He landed stumbling on the street beside them.

            “Follow me!”

            The four of them ran.

            They ran faster than they had ever run in their lives.


	5. The Mission

They took refuge in an empty Muggle house in Mayfair, and drew all the cutains closed before gathering, scared and confused, around the kitchen table. The man from the rooftop, whose name Eva learnt was Remus Lupin, sank shakily into a chair and rested his head for a moment in his hands. Silvanus, who had pulled Eva out of the combat, sat next to him, still breathing heavily. The shock of sudden violence had left him feeling hyper-alert. Eva, for her part, had no intention of giving either of them much chance to catch their breath. She was losing no time in demanding to be told everything that Lupin knew of what had happened to the Order of the Phoenix, and what had happened to Sestia.

            The only calm one among them was the red-haired girl, who sat looking alert but unruffled, and taking great interest in the others’ conversation.

            “I’m sorry,” Lupin said to her after a minute or so (before Eva had been able to get much out of him), “But I still don’t know who you are.”

            “This is –” Eva began, and then checked herself just in time. This was _not_ Diana.

            “Delta,” supplied the girl promptly. “My name is Delta Upsilon.”

            It was the collective title they had given themselves. They liked it.

            “Well, Delta,” said Lupin, “You … you showed quite some bravado back there.”

            Delta shrugged. “I wanted to talk to Dolohov,” she said calmly, as though it was the most natural desire in the world.

            Lupin stared at her. “I see. And you and Eva know each other?”

            “We …” began Eva cautiously, and glanced at Delta. She received a cheerful smile. Delta had been nothing but pleasant to her since escaping from Peter Street. Their hostile encounter of earlier seemed to be forgotten.

            “We knew each other at Hogwarts,” she concluded.

            “No we didn’t,” said Delta, politely but firmly. “You knew Diana.”

            “Diana Urquhart,” Eva explained to the other two, who were looking very unsettled. “She was in my year, and she …”

            This was no good. She turned back to Delta. “Well, she was you. I’m sorry, but I’m looking at Diana. What in Merlin’s name –”

            “Diana is not here anymore,” said Delta sharply. “Diana is gone. It’s just us now.”

            There was a tense silence.

            Silvanus decided that the situation called for a goals-focused approach. “Miss Delta,” he began, “With all due respect, may I ask if you would consider yourself an enemy of the Dark Lord?”

            Delta looked abstract for a moment. Then she said, “I’m certainly an enemy of some of the people working for him.”

            This was not wholly reassuring. He glanced at Lupin, who was looking at Delta very intently. “Well,” he went on, “Mr Lupin here needs help with –” he hesitated – “A task. A task that involves fighting the Dark Lord.”

            “What do you mean, task?” asked Eva. “What are you talking about?”

            Lupin looked grim. “Mr Helga is talking about the mission I now have to pursue. The Order is disabled and I have no way of getting in contact with anybody else who may still be active. Nor do I know where is safe. But I do know there is something worse to come, and I intend to do whatever I can to stop it.”

            “What worse thing?”

            “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

            “Well, what good is that then?!” exclaimed Eva, angrily. Lupin grimaced.

            “How do you know something’s going to happen?” asked Delta. Unlike Eva, she did not seem impatient or sceptical. Her tone was of sincere interest.

            “I’ll explain,” said Lupin wearily, “But once I’ve explained it, we’re going to need to move. Every moment we wait is a moment wasted. I need to find Sirius and Sestia.”

            “Sestia?” repeated Eva, urgently. “I thought Sestia was at Peter Street with you when the headquarters was captured?”

            “She was not,” said Lupin. “She was there earlier, yes. I was talking with her, about you, not three hours ago. She spoke very highly of you, you know.” He was looking at her as though trying to size her up.

            “But then?”

            “But then she, and our friend Sirius Black, fled the headquarters as soon as we came under attack. Believe me, they didn’t want to,” he added, in response to Eva’s incredulous stare. “They would have stayed and fought with the rest of us, and they would have fought with great courage. I have no doubt of that.”

            “Then why did they flee?” asked Silvanus, his brow furrowed.

            “Because the Order has emergency procedures for the kind of catastrophe that occurred tonight. And sometimes those procedures mean that some of us have … duties … that might make us feel like we’re abandoning our friends.”

            “So what was this duty?” asked Eva. “What could be more important than defending the Order?”

            Lupin paused. “Several days ago, Dumbledore deposited a casket at the Order headquarters in Peter Street. It wasn’t to stay there – I believe he was transferring it from Gringotts to Hogwarts. But he left it in the Order house, and he was going to collect it and take it to the school with him when he returned tomorrow.”

            “Returned from where?” asked Eva.

            “Abroad,” said Lupin glumly. “That is all I know.”

            “Wait,” said Silvanus. “So the Death Eaters attacked the Order headquarters right at the moment when this casket happened to be there.”

            Lupin nodded meaningfully.

            “Well come on, what was in it?” Eva asked him.

            “None of us really knew. Dumbledore was being very, very secretive about the whole business. There was a name, but even I only heard it mentioned once. He called it the Avalon Key.”

            Silvanus frowned; there was something familiar about the name. But whatever it was, he couldn’t call it to mind.

            “And that’s all that any of you knew about it?” he asked.

            “Well,” said Lupin, “Not quite. Dumbledore did take one or two people into his confidence. Or rather … specifically two people.”

            “Let me guess,” said Eva. “Sestia and Sirius.”

            “That’s right. They were the ones he entrusted with the secret. And when he did so, he charged them with the task of protecting this Key, in case anything should go wrong while he was away. They were to stop it from falling into the hands of the Death Eaters – at any cost.”

            “So …” said Silvanus, “So when the Death Eaters struck, they just took this casket and left? They didn’t say where they would go, what they would do?”

            “It’s not quite as bad as that,” Lupin answered. “Sirius told me …” and suddenly Lupin shuddered, and his face clouded over briefly with pain. He stared blankly, his jaw trembling, at the smooth wooden tabletop beneath his clenched hands.

            Eva looked at Silvanus. He met her gaze, his expression deeply troubled. Then she glanced at Delta, who was watching Lupin with a surprisingly gentle look in her eyes. For a moment all four were silent.

            Lupin lifted his head. “I’m sorry,” he said briefly. “I saw … I saw a lot of my friends die back there.”

            Delta laid a hand on his arm. He shuddered again, but less violently. Then he took a deep breath.

            “Sirius had one moment to speak to me before he and Sestia left the house,” he said. “He told me they were taking the Key to the Grim Vault, because that was the best place he could think to keep it safe. And there was something else – something I heard him say to Sestia. He told her, _All that matters now is that we prevent Rosetta_.”

            “What’s Rosetta?” asked Delta.

            “That is what I don’t know,” Lupin told her. “But the way he said it … I have known Sirius Black for a very long time. He has been one of my dearest friends for as long as I have had friends at all.” He paused, and swallowed. “And I have rarely – perhaps never – heard such fear, such horror, in Sirius’s voice, as when he spoke the name Rosetta.”

            The mysterious word seemed to hover in the air between them, like some foul oath.

            “What about the Grim Vault?” asked Eva. “Do we know what _that_ is, at least?”

            “I can answer that,” said Silvanus. “The Grim Vault is an extremely high-security Ministry facility, and its location is top-secret. It is where the Department of Magical Law Enforcement keeps the most dangerous material that they confiscate from Dark wizards. The place is like a store-house for objects that can’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.”

            “Makes sense for this Key then,” commented Delta.

            “So does the Order know where it is?” asked Eva.

            “I personally do not, though Sestia did,” said Lupin. “But I’m pretty certain I know somebody else who can tell us.”

            “Who?”

            “An old friend of Dumbledore’s, who used to be head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – many years ago now. His name is Pelagius Grey, and he lives here in London. I know where his house is. So this,” Lupin went on, visibly sitting up straighter in his chair, and looking frankly at all three of them, “is my plan. I intend to go to Pelagius Grey, and ask him where I can enter the Grim Vault. I will go there, find Sirius and Sestia, and make sure that they are safe. And then … I will help them do whatever is necessary to _prevent Rosetta_.”

            He looked around at the three of them. He spoke slowly, but now with barely a tremor in his voice. “In this mission,” he said, “I am hopelessly outclassed. The Death Eaters are victorious and they are, for the moment, unchallenged. I will need every scrap of support I can possibly muster. Silvanus, you have said already that you will help me, but now you know the whole story …”

            “I’m staying,” said Silvanus simply. There was no doubt in his mind. He had absolutely no intention of walking away.

            “Thankyou,” said Lupin. “Eva …” and he gave her a wan, sad smile. “We were going to ask you to join the Order tonight. This is hardly the welcome you should have been given. But if you had said yes, I’m sorry to say this is the kind of life that would have awaited you. All I can ask you now is, will you help me to do the work of the Order?”

            Eva hesitated for a moment. In spite of all she had heard, she wasn’t quite sure she trusted Remus Lupin. By instinct she trusted Silvanus; on Delta, the jury was out. All in all, it was not a company of allies she felt happy with. But in spite of everything, she could not deny that this was, after all, the work she had chosen – even if she had been thrust straight into one of the bitterest, most dire situations it might ever have offered her. The best she could do was go along with Lupin. And besides, if they succeeded, she would be working with Sestia too. That would compensate for a great deal.

            “I’m in,” she said. “Let’s get to this Vault, and see what Sestia and Sirius can tell us about what we’re up against.”

            Lupin nodded. “Thankyou, Eva. It means a lot to have you with us.”

            Then he looked at Delta. She looked back at him quite openly. But somehow, Silvanus thought to himself as he too turned his gaze on her, it was just so very, very hard to sense what was happening behind those clear, bright blue eyes.

            “Delta,” said Lupin, “I still don’t understand who you are, and frankly I feel like it wouldn’t do me much good to ask you more. But I’ve seen that you can handle yourself, and you’ve said that you’re against the Death Eaters. And I need help.”

            “I want to come with you,” said Delta simply. “I can help.”

            Lupin nodded slowly. “Well, I’m in no position to turn down that offer. Are you going to ask anything of me in return?”

            She looked at him blankly. “In return?”

            “Well,” said Lupin, “I’m not very clear on what you want, Delta. I mean … you kind of threw yourself into this tonight, and you’ve said nothing about why you’re here, or what you’re working for.”

            “Well, I want to stay with Angel,” said Delta brightly, and smiled again at Eva.

            “Okay. But beyond that …”

            “I want to know more about what the Death Eaters are doing. I want to be there when you face them again. Besides, if I come with you I might find my friends.”

            She offered no further comment. “Well,” commented Silvanus drily. “I guess that settles things.”

            “So … we can trust you then?” said Eva cautiously, looking at her searchingly.

            “Of course you can trust me,” Delta replied in a tone of great earnestness, sounding slightly wounded.

            Lupin stood up. “Very well,” he said. “Welcome on board, Delta. And I am indebted to all three of you. Now: we need to be on the move again. There’s no knowing how long it will be before the Death Eaters get to the Grim Vault, and I intend to be there before them.”

            “Wait,” said Eva, “Why would the Death Eaters be heading there?”

            “Because if they knew the locations of all the Order safe houses, and if they knew when to strike us and what defences they’d hit, then I’m willing to bet they can figure out that Sirius and Sestia were missing from the headquarters when they took it – and the Avalon Key is missing too. And everybody they captured at Peter Street knows where Sirius and Sestia were taking it. I would trust any of those people with my life, but,” he went on darkly, “there is no knowing what anybody might say under the Cruciatus curse.”

            Or even without it, Eva thought. After all, the Order had fallen, and the Death Eaters had known exactly how to bring it down. It sounded like Lupin’s friends might not all be quite so trustworthy as he seemed to assume.

            “Very well,” said Silvanus, also getting to his feet. “To the house of Pelagius Grey. Lead on.”

            Delta and Eva stood, and followed the other two out of the kitchen. They slipped out the back door of the grand, tall white house, into the shadows of the garden. Quietly, determinedly, the four of them set off again into the city.


	6. The Chase

_Angel knew us before the Event_ , said Martin, yet again. _Angel might have known Hayley. We should ask Angel about Hayley._

None of the others were very comfortable with this idea.

            _I still say we should hold tight_ , said Joyce. She sounded slightly shaky. Elizabeth rested at her side, and gently, as if caressing her hair, seemed to preen her.

 _There’s no knowing what we might discover in the next few hours_ , Joyce went on. _Any Death Eater we meet is another chance to ask questions._

            _If Dolohov wasn’t willing to spill_ , Zachary rebuked her, _what makes you think we’ve got more of a chance with any of the others?_

 _Dolohov is hard_ , said Randall sourly. _Dolohov is … very sure of himself._

 _Yeah_ , said Charlotte coldly. _I kinda picked up on that. Now if we’d only had the chance to get Karkaroff under the scalpel_ –

            _But Angel is right here!_ said Martin. _And why interrogate Death Eaters at knife-point when we can just have a chat with a nice girl like her?_

 _She’s not going to tell us anything we don’t already know about what happened to Hayley_ , sighed Joyce. Elizabeth tensed slightly, as though tightening her fingers around a lock of Joyce’s hair.

            _No,_ Martin conceded, _I guess not. But it can’t hurt just to ask what she knew. About the time before. About Hayley and us._

There was general unease. For the true cause of their reluctance to talk to Eva – as they all knew, if they would only admit it – was not that they thought she would have nothing to tell them. It was the simple prospect of having to talk about the time before. The time when they were not together. Before the Event, when Diana went away.

            _Come on_ , said Martin quietly. _I know we can all handle it. Let’s ask her._

There was silence. But Martin knew, at last, that they were giving in.

            _Alright_ , said Charlotte. _But I’m going to lead this one_.

            _Yes ma’am_. And it was like Joyce, and then Elizabeth, and then even Randall, all nodded their assent. Only Zachary refused. Zachary did not see the point in talking nicely to Eva. What reason did Eva have to tell them a word of truth, if they were not going to hold the scalpel to her throat?

            But Zachary could be overruled. He was only one. For a moment before he retreated, he seemed to loom among them – malevolent, angry, uncomprehending. Martin trembled at his presence, for Zachary had an edge like a rough saw, and he was deeply, chillingly cold. Martin did not want to have to hold Zachary down. They could do it – they had done it before – but it meant touching that icy presence much more closely than he ever, ever wanted. Thankfully for Martin, right now it wasn’t going to be necessary. Zachary was clever enough to pick his battles, and he didn’t care enough to risk a confrontation this time. With a slight shudder, he subsided. Later, he thought to himself. He knew his time would come.

            _Okay_ , said Charlotte. _We’re all agreed_.

 _But be careful_ , Joyce warned her. _I trust this girl, but I don’t think she’s anywhere near trusting us_.

            _She’ll trust us all the more if we talk to her about Hayley_ , said Martin faithfully. And Elizabeth nodded in quiet agreement.

            _Right then_ , said Charlotte.

            “Angel?”

 

Eva looked round. She and Delta were still bringing up the rear as the four of them wound their way through the smaller London streets.

            “Um, yes?” she answered.

            “Angel,” said Delta, without bothering to lead up to it, “What can you tell me about Hayley Watson?”

            Eva’s stomach gave a queasy lurch.

            “Hayley Watson?” she repeated, suddenly on edge.

            “Yes.” Delta was looking at her very intently.

            Eva was unsettled. The fate of the Watsons was hardly a topic that made for pleasant conversation. Why would Delta –

            And then she remembered. Of course. Hayley had been Diana’s friend – her only friend, as far as Eva could remember. The two of them had been inseparable. Year after year, it had been Diana and Hayley, studying together in the library, wandering together, absorbed in conversation, through the Hogwarts grounds. It hadn’t even occurred to Eva to wonder how Diana had taken the news of Hayley’s death. After all, that had only been back in April, not long before they finished school. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember seeing Diana very much during those last few months …

            But wait, she thought. This made no sense. Delta was not Diana. Why was she asking about Diana’s friend?

            “She was in … our year … at Hogwarts,” Eva said cautiously. “She was a good friend of your – of Diana.”

            “I know,” said Delta simply. She looked at Eva expectantly, waiting for her to go on.

            “And, um, earlier this year, she and her family were … attacked by Death Eaters.”

            Delta did not react. She gave no sign that this was news to her.

            “They were,” Eva went on, feeling extremely uncomfortable, “They were … killed, Delta. All of them. Hayley and her Mum and Dad. They were Muggles, you know. Hayley was Muggle-born. It was one of the Death Eaters’ random attacks, I guess. It happened at their home. One night in April.”

            Delta nodded. She still seemed unsurprised, but now there was a tightness around her mouth, and a rigidity in her jaw.

            “I know all that,” she said simply. “I know when and where she died. And I know who did it.”

            Eva started; but before she could ask questions, Lupin was calling from ahead of them. They were at the edge of a very wide road, divided by a strip of greenery in the middle, and with a dark and open space beyond it.

            “We need to cross and get into Hyde Park,” said Lupin. “We’ll make our way across the park to Kensington – it’ll be much less conspicuous than going through the streets.”

            As they hurried across Park Lane, catching a gap in the traffic, Delta resumed her questioning.

            “But I want to know about before. When she was friends with Diana. I want to know what she was like.”

            “What she was like?” repeated Eva, scrambling over the low fence into the park. “You don’t remember?”

            “Of course not,” said Delta. “How could I?”

            Eva’s mind whirled. “But you remember Hayley,” she said. “And yet you don’t remember anything about her?”

            “I remember enough,” said Delta simply. “I remember what is important.”

            “And what is that?”

            “I remember that I loved her.”

            Eva stared at her. She glanced ahead at Silvanus and Lupin, who were walking some yards in front of them, engrossed in their own conversation. Then she looked back at the girl beside her.

            “Delta,” she said slowly, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t get this. First you say Diana is gone. Now you say that you loved Diana’s friend. But you don’t remember anything about her.”

            “Diana is gone,” said Delta – and there was a strange tremor in her voice – “But some things were left behind.” And she added, half to herself, in a tone that was almost reverential:

            “Marks in the slate.”

            “The slate?” repeated Eva. “What do you mean?”

            Delta looked up at the sky. The clouds had gone by now, and a bright, near-full moon was bathing them in its silvery wash.

            “The mind,” said Delta, “is like writing on a slate, Angel. Lots and lots of writing, scribbled on a slate. A slate of stone.”

            A weird shudder seemed to pass through Delta’s body.

            “And that means, Angel,” she went on – and there was something in her voice that raised the hairs on the back of Eva’s neck – “If the mind is only writing on a slate, that means the slate can be … _wiped clean_.”

            Delta turned her piercing blue gaze onto Eva.

            “And when it is clean, something else can be written on it. Another mind. Another scribble, all different words this time. A whole new text.

            “And why stop there? More than one person can write on the same slate, after all. Picture it, Eva – writing on top of writing. All in different hands. All different sets of words, scrawled on top of each other, but all on the same slate.”

            Eva swallowed. “And what about … you said … _marks_?”

            “Yes,” said Delta intently, a wild light in her eyes. “Marks. That’s the catch. Because you see, sometimes when we write on a slate, we press very, very hard. And that means we leave marks. Notches. _Cracks_. We leave marks in the slate itself. So even when all our writing is gone, when all the ink is scrubbed away, and when other writing has been written in its place … those marks will still be there.”

            The low west wind, wandering across the open, grassy space of the park, lifted Delta’s hair. She looked at Eva, quite directly.

            “Diana loved Hayley,” she said simply. “Diana loved Hayley enough to leave a mark on this slate. Diana is gone now. But that mark is still here.”

            Eva nodded, slowly. She understood.

            “Are there any other marks on your slate, Delta?” she asked quietly.

            “Just one other. My friends. I remember my friends, and I know they’re still out there, waiting for me.”

            “Yes, you mentioned that back at the house. Are you talking about other people from our year group?”

            Eva could not remember Diana having any friends other than Hayley.

            “No,” said Delta shortly. “None of my friends ever came to Hogwarts. They are waiting for me, out there somewhere, and I need to find them. But first I need to find the killer of Hayley Watson.”

            In Delta’s declaration there could be heard a grim, inflexible, malevolent resolve. Her very voice made Eva feel out of place, as though she stood in the presence of a purpose more certain and more unquestioning than anything that Lupin – desperate, confused Lupin – had yet manifested to them.

            “The killer of Hayley Watson,” Eva repeated. “And you said you know who that was?”

            “I do,” said Delta calmly. “Finding out her identity was my first task.” Eva started at the feminine pronoun – she was not aware of any women among the Death Eaters.

            “But that I have done,” Delta went on. “I know exactly who she is. And now, I am going to take revenge.”

 

The vast, lightless expanse of Hyde Park stretched on all sides. Flat, grassy spaces lay empty all around the party of furtive travellers, the emptiness punctuated irregularly by solitary trees. Above them, the moon and stars glowed gently, dimmed by the unseen shroud of the yellow city lights.

            Eva told Delta the little that she remembered about the quiet, gentle girl named Hayley Watson. But she did not have much to say, and talking about it soon seemed to make Delta tense again. Eva had sense enough not to press her about anything more, and eventually the two of them lapsed into silence as they followed Lupin and Silvanus across the moonlit park.

            The noises of the city seemed distant and muffled on all sides. Silvanus let his attention wander over the faint, low roar of cars, grumbling through the twisted bowels of London. If he listened closely, he could pick out sirens. Catastrophe, urgency, desperation – who knew what drama was being played out, what lives were being made and wrecked, even at that moment in the wild city beyond this park? Silvanus knew that the stillness was an illusion. The night was dark and full of enemies. The noise was low, but threaded with the sounds of danger.

            The sounds of danger …

            Silvanus stopped, suddenly. Lupin halted quickly and turned to him; Eva and Delta pulled themselves up short at his side.

            “What’s wrong?” asked Lupin.

            “Listen,” said Silvanus. And he turned around and scanned the sky – the sky behind them, in the direction they had fled from. The other three turned. And then they heard it too. Distant, distinct bangs – explosions, high above them, faint but clear, and frequent. And then, above the city skyline at the edge of the park, they saw the clear, umistakeable flashes of red, and green.

            “Those are spells,” said Silvanus abruptly. “Stunning spells. Killing spells.”

            “Wait,” said Eva, staring. “They’re coming closer.” For indeed they were – every flash seemed nearer to them, the blasts of light racing brilliantly across the sky. “But why are they already firing? They can’t be aiming at us.”

            “They’re not,” said Lupin suddenly. “Look – it’s a chase!”

            They stared – and then they saw it too. In the sky above the park were two figures, far apart, borne on broomsticks. The first was emitting no blasts of light; it simply weaved erratically around the sky, speeding and careering in a wild, crazed pattern. Behind it came another – and this one flew straight as an arrow. From this pursuer came the spell blasts, each one streaking across the night towards the dodging shape ahead. The deadly flashes came with the speed of bullets, incredibly, insanely rapid, and each one seemed to miss the fleeing figure by barely a snatch of wind.

            “That’s ridiculous,” breathed Lupin. “Nobody can shoot that accurately from a moving broom.”

            “But they’re not that accurate,” said Eva, her eyes trained on the pursuit above. “They’re missing every time.”

            There was a pause. Then: “Are they?” said Silvanus. “Are they though?”

            “What do you mean?” asked Eva, glancing at him quickly.

            “Look at what’s happening,” said Silvanus; and he pointed up at the flying figures, who were drawing ever closer, and ever lower – in fact, they had dropped in altitude by what must have been fifty feet since he spotted them.

            “Every time the fleeing one dodges,” said Silvanus, “he has to go lower. All the spells are going right over his head; every time he dodges, the only way he can dodge is down.”

            The fleeing figure veered wildly to one side, and seemed for one moment to lurch upwards; but a volley of red blasts ran furiously above and around it, and it dropped back down just as suddenly, forced away.

            “So they don’t want to kill!” exclaimed Eva. “They want to force him down – to make him land.”

            “To land _here_ ,” said Lupin. “To land out here in Hyde Park – where there’s no-one else around.”

            And he was right. The fleeing figure was diving now, diving under a shower of blazing red and deadly green, diving while the figure behind swooped downwards upon him like some terrible bird of prey. With a great skid, they saw him tumble to the grassy ground, barely a hundred yards away from them, just to the north. Swiftly, steadily, and not far off at all, the pursuer landed too. They saw him drop his broom on the grass, and walk calmly, almost casually, towards his quarry.


	7. The Stranger

“We should get away,” said Eva, whose hair was standing up on the back of her neck. “This isn’t our fight.”

            “No,” said Silvanus abruptly. He was staring across the park, his heart pounding with mysterious fear, but aware of an urgency, a need for action. He forced himself to say it: “Eva, Mr Lupin, Delta … that man needs help.”

            “Merlin’s fucking beard,” hissed Eva, “Are you insane?”

            A low, terrible booming sound shook the night, as a massive flash of colour bloomed in the darkness between the two figures. The hunted man was stumbling backward, his hand raised to shield his eyes; the hunter walking steadily forward, weird, colourful fire dancing around the tip of his wand.

            “I don’t like this,” muttered Lupin.

            Delta spoke suddenly, very earnestly: “But you need help!” She was staring at Lupin. “You need help, and so does he. You should help him.”

            “I’m moving,” said Silvanus suddenly, with resolution. “The rest of you can follow or not.” But please, he thought to himself, please, do follow.

            He strode forwards towards the lights. The two men were shooting streams of curses at each other, colouring the darkness around them with screeching bursts of fire and sparks. Without a word, Delta drew her wand, and walked calmly after Silvanus.

            “Lupin –”

            “I know, Eva, I know,” said Lupin desperately. He glanced almost guiltily after Silvanus. “But I’m afraid they’re right. We can’t walk away.”

            “Bullshit you can’t!” exclaimed Eva, hurrying after him as he began, cautiously, to move forward. “We have no idea whether either of these people even deserve our help!”

            Ahead of them came a shout, and she was aware of a blast of green – but both men were still on their feet.

            Lupin was beginning to circle to the right, divergent to Silvanus and Delta, who had gone left. “I know,” he answered Eva, glancing back at her with a fearful look in his eyes. “So shoot to stun or capture, Eva. Good luck.”

            And out of the night ahead of them, off to their left, came the yell of a curse from Silvanus, and red light went flaring towards the hunter.

            The spell missed by yards. But suddenly the figure was turning, wand held high, and not as though startled, but as though he had been fully aware, the whole time, of the four people moving towards him. A clear, powerful voice rang out.

            “In the name of the Ministry of Magic, stand down! I am Matthias Lanternwright, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and I am here to arrest this man! If you obstruct me in my duty, I am licensed to use deadly force!”

            “Shit,” cursed Eva.

            “ _Petrificus totalus!_ ”

            Matthias Lanternwright had twisted around with the speed of a darting viper, his wand swooping keenly and precisely through the night to point back, with not a moment’s warning, at the other man. The hunted figure convulsed, his arms snapping to his sides and his legs suddenly locking together; and he collapsed, silent, onto the ground.

            “Don’t drop your guard!” said Lupin to Eva, urgently. “Ministry doesn’t mean safe.”

            “I’m fully aware of that, you idiot!” she snapped at him. They had come beneath a large, solitary oak. By instinct, she darted over to the trunk and began, surely and easily, to climb.

            “Put your wands away!” came the commanding voice of the man, and a rippling rainbow blast of flame streaked upwards into the night from where he stood, like a danger signal, a many-coloured warning. “Put your wands away, and come to me!”

            “Please!” came a gasping voice from the man on the ground, half-strangled and desperately short of breath. “I am a friend to the Ministry! I am not a criminal!”

            Matthias laughed – loud, violent, careless. Delta, far across from Lupin and Eva on the other side of their creeping encirclement, called in a low, urgent voice to Silvanus, some yards to her left –

            “You said you work at the Ministry. Do you know him?”

            “I know of him,” Silvanus answered, his wand held tense in his hand, on guard. “And he’s said to be a good man.”

            “I am counting to three,” Matthias announced to the park, glancing confidently around at them all. “Come forward before I reach three, and you might not all be under military arrest.”

            “This doesn’t feel right,” said Delta abruptly.

            “One!”

            There was a moan of pain from the man on the ground.

            “Two!”

            “ _Finte incantatem!_ ”

            The spell came from Silvanus, who was suddenly running, at full pelt, towards the man on the ground; and the crumpled figure was convulsing, jerking into movement –

            “ _Avada kedavra!_ ”

            Silvanus flung himself full on the ground as the curse streaked over his head. Delta bounded over him, and curses were flying from Lupin, dashing in from the other side as they converged towards the attacker.

            Matthias Lanternwright spun, almost like a dancer, yelling spells exaltantly to the night as his wand fired brilliant arrows of sick green light at Lupin, at Delta, at Silvanus. Scrambling to his feet, Silvanus saw Lupin dodging, twisting away from the curses; and then Delta too was leaping backwards as Matthias spun back round, the murderous green blasts coming once again towards her. She could not get close – the man in the centre was too fast, he was holding them all at bay –

            In the branches of the oak, Eva leant inwards against the immense trunk and laid her hand on the old, gnarled, living wood. She closed her eyes.

            “Stand down!” cried Matthias – and there was glee in his voice. “You are obstructing the execution of wizarding justice! _Avada kedavra!_ ”

            The hunted man, with a convulsive effort, had pulled himself back on his feet. Silvanus realised suddenly that the man was badly wounded – there was blood soaking his robes, and with one hand he clutched his side, his face twisted in a grimace.

            “Nikolai is coming with me!” proclaimed Matthias as he twisted around, firing another curse at Delta, who still could not get near him, and in one movement sweeping his wand back across to block a curse from Lupin. “Nikolai needs to talk with my friends at the Ministry. _Stupefy!_ ”

            Silvanus lunged at the man named Nikolai and pulled him back to the ground, as the red light streaked over their heads. Quick as a snake, Matthias ducked another curse from Lupin, and leapt suddenly towards them. Silvanus shoved Nikolai behind him and made to pull himself upright, but he found himself at Matthias’s feet, and looked up into the cruelly smiling face of the man standing right above him – his figure moonlit, his wand trained on Silvanus at point-blank range, just inches from his face …

            The ground trembled.

            With a deep, tearing, rumbling crunch, the earth beneath Matthias’s feet heaved upwards. He staggered backwards, his arms flailing, as something dark and massive reared from the earth beneath. Silvanus pulled himself back, dragging Nikolai with him, as a huge wooden root, like some great blind worm, thrust itself out of the soil.

            It turned, creaking, towards Matthias. And in a sudden, green explosion, from its tip burst a writhing mass of thin, pliant, new green shoots. They wriggled like a living net over Matthias, who roared with fury, thrashing against them as they tightened, tightened their lithe green cords around his arms, his chest, his legs, and pulled him with a great jerk, back against the root.

            And in barely a moment, Matthias Lanternwright was bound tightly, with living green ropes, to the low wooden arch of the root – motionless now, and solid as a boulder. His wand lay, fallen and harmless, several yards away from him on the grass.

            Eva slipped down from the oak, and hurried over to the others. In her every vein, she could feel her blood racing through her body like a flock of speeding, tumbling birds.

            “What in the name of Merlin,” Lupin gasped, bent over double and clutching his knees as he wheezed for breath, “was that?”

            “Is he secure?” asked Silvanus.

            “Yes,” came Delta’s response, sure and firm. She had moved quickly to fasten a piece of dirty cloth across Matthias’s mouth, and now was peering closely at the green bonds.

            “Then I’m treating this man,” Silvanus answered. “Sir,” he turned to Nikolai, “Your wounds need urgent attention. Will you allow me?”

            The man nodded, then gasped as his body twisted in another spasm of pain. “Yes,” he panted. “Yes. Thankyou.”

            “Be careful of him, Silvanus,” said Eva sharply, breathlessly. “We still don’t know who this man is.”

            Lupin gave a short, ragged laugh. “You save him from capture, but you won’t trust him until you have to. The Order would really have suited you, Eva.”

            She looked at him quickly and cautiously. Eva was finding herself struck by the same awkward, uncomfortable wariness that had taken hold of her whenever she had done this before – whenever she was driven to an open display of her abilities. She had learnt, and remembered now, to push down the sense of heightened life, of clearer, more present awareness, that came upon her in the exercise of her powers; for others had witnessed things that made her strange, and perhaps they could not be trusted. Despite a deep, innate, renewed vitality, she therefore found herself feeling tense – and volatile with vulnerability.

            “I’m perfectly willing,” she told Lupin, “to hand this man over to Mr Lanternwright if we judge him in the wrong. We’ve prevented harm being done here, but now we have both these men in our power.”

            Lupin raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

            “Wait,” said Delta, turning wide-eyed from the trussed Matthias and staring at Eva. “That was _you_? You made this root come out of the ground – you tied this man up in vines? What kind of magic is that?”

            “My kind,” said Eva with a glare.

            “And a kind we’re all very grateful for,” Silvanus called out. The three of them looked over at him and his patient. Nikolai’s wounds had turned out to be a set of deep, jagged rips in his side, from which had poured such gushes of blood as to soak his robes in red. Silvanus had bound the wounds with magic, but as Nikolai got to his feet, Eva could see from his face that he remained wracked with pain. Yet there was nonetheless an air of authority in the way this young man stood – an accustomed confidence and sureness, as though he was used to being in control.

            Eva caught Silvanus’s eye. He gave her a respectful, thoughtful nod.

            “I …” Nikolai began, slightly haltingly and in a low voice. “I need to thank you all. I am in your debt.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” said Silvanus shakily. Eva noticed that he was trembling.

            “I’m glad we could help,” said Lupin; but his voice was still half-unsure. “Um … Nikolai, yes?”

            “Nikolai Ardent,” said the man, drawing himself up a little straighter. “The Second.” And he ran a hand over his hair, which was black, and pushed it back into place – combed back smoothly, leaving his high forehead exposed.

            “Ardent,” repeated Silvanus. “I know of the Ardents – one of the very old wizarding families, aren’t you?”

            Eva did not wait for an answer. “What was happening here tonight?” she demanded of Nikolai. “Why was this man trying to arrest you?”

            “Because, I can only presume, he is working for the Dark Lord.” Nikolai looked Eva directly in the eye.

            “Silvanus,” said Delta abruptly, “You said you know who Matthias Lanternwright is?”

            “Yes,” Silvanus answered, with a troubled glance at the man tied to the root. “Like he said, he’s head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

            “I know of him too,” said Lupin worriedly. “I understood he had a good reputation.”

            “Hardworking,” said Silvanus. “And not … not _flashy_. Not interested in prestige. Actually, I’ve heard Wayne speak highly of him.”

            “I can’t answer for Mr Lanternwright’s reputation,” said Nikolai stiffly. “I knew nothing of him before I met him tonight.”

            “And how was that?” Lupin asked him.

            Nikolai grimaced. “I had captured a Death Eater sympathiser and torturer of Muggles. I had made it my business to track her down and seize her – when I was successful, I contacted the Ministry with my location. That was this morning. I expected an Auror to come, to take her into custody. Instead I waited through the day with no word; and then, less than an hour ago, I got Mr Lanternwright.”

            “And what, he attacked you?” Eva asked him.

            “Not at first. He showed me his Ministry identification, so I trusted him. But he was not …” Nikolai paused, and shot an uncertain, fearful glance at the captive man. “He was strange. He did not seem … professional. He was dismissive. He kept looking at me with this strange grin …”

            Nikolai gave a kind of shudder. “And then suddenly, he told me I was under arrest, and I was to come with him to the Ministry. And he let – he let Dorothy escape. I resisted but … I had to flee. He was too good. And he chased me …”

            “And he forced you down out here,” concluded Lupin.

            “Who was Dorothy?” Eva enquired. “What are you, some kind of vigilante? Why was she your responsibility?”

            Nikolai looked affronted. “She is my cousin,” he told her, a note of disgust on the last word. “Dorothy Ardent, self-appointed enemy of all things … impure. But even if she were not bound to me by blood, am I to be accused of lawlessness for seeking to bring a criminal to justice?”

            “Very eloquent, aren’t you?” murmured Eva, not quite loud enough for him to hear.

            “Hold on, hold on,” said Silvanus. “If this is true, then the question we need to answer is what has happened to Matthias Lanternwright. Because I know his face, and that’s definitely him, but the man we all seem to have met tonight is … well …”

            “ _Not_ him,” said Lupin.

            “Exactly. The man we have met tonight is a stranger.”

            “Polyjuice?” suggested Eva. “The Imperius curse?”

            “Or he’s genuinely turned traitor,” said Nikolai coldly. “That possibility cannot be discounted, surely.”

            “Well we’re not going to solve that by discussing it,” said Delta, and there was a nervous edge to her voice. “We need to talk to him. We need to ask him.”

            Lupin nodded, slowly. “You’re right,” he said.

            “Please,” commented Nikolai laconically. “I certainly wouldn’t mind hearing what he has to say.” With a wince, he began to move towards the thick, dark hump of the root, where Matthias Lanternwright was bound and gagged.

            Delta bent over their captive as Lupin, Eva, Silvanus and Nikolai gathered round. Matthias was not struggling. He looked, Eva thought suddenly, remarkably composed. He almost even looked _relaxed_. For a moment, his gaze met hers – and Eva saw a twinkle in his eye that sent a chill running down her spine.

            And then Delta pulled off his gag.


	8. Mercy

“Ahhhh!” breathed out Matthias. “Now that’s much more pleasant for all concerned, isn’t it? Thankyou, my darling.” He smiled indulgently at Delta. On Matthias’s lined, middle-aged face, beneath a fringe of greying hair, was an expression of faint, disdainful amusement.

            “Matthias Lanternwright,” Silvanus began. “We want to know why you were pursuing Mr Ardent here. We want to know what you want from him.”

            Matthias looked at him appraisingly. “Your name’s Silvanus, right? That’s what this one called you just now.” He nodded to Delta.

            Wrong-footed, Silvanus hesitated. “My name doesn’t matter,” he said after a moment.

            “Oh, but it does!” smiled Matthias. “I want to be on civil terms with all of you. You all seem so _interesting_.”

            “We’re the ones asking the questions,” said Eva abruptly. “Tell us why you’re here tonight.”

            “A mere chance encounter, little girl,” said Matthias softly, staring intently into Eva’s face. “Believe me, I had no idea any of you would be here when I came after Nikolai. But I’m so glad I did. I’m very, _very_ glad I did.”

            “This man isn’t going to co-operate with you,” said Nikolai. “You can’t expect him to give away what’s happening just like that.”

            Matthias winked conspiratorially at Eva. She scowled back at him, trying hard not to let him sense the fear that was prickling through her.

            “Well, what do you suggest, Mr Ardent?” asked Lupin.

            “There’s always legilimency,” said Silvanus quietly.

            “Ooh, that sounds fun,” commented Matthias, a teasing note in his voice. “Come poke around in my head, Silvanus – I’m sure it’ll be very illuminating for both of us.”

            Eva became aware that Delta was sitting very, very still. Glancing at her quickly, she saw, on the girl’s scar-torn face, an expression of intense, extraordinary concentration, as she stared at Matthias. And as Eva’s eyes dropped to her hand, she saw that Delta was not, for once, clutching her scalpel. She was clutching her wand.

            “I know a better way,” said Delta.

            And before any of them could move to stop her, Delta had lunged at Matthias, seizing his head in a vicelike grip, and trained her wand with perfect focus onto the space between his eyes, a merest inch away from his face.

            “ _Neurocorripio!_ ” she screamed.

            All six of Delta felt themselves plunging into Matthias’s head, ready to receive the new mind, the new self, to lift it out into Delta, and here it was, the mind reaching up to them, compelled, compelled by their summons, ready at once to forsake this body, the mind of Matthias Lanternwright stretching out to become part of Delta …

            Something moved in the shadows.

            With the force of an erupting volcano, something wild and vicious and terribly, terribly strong came rocketing up out of Matthias’s head. It lashed out at the six of them with one mighty, mind-shattering _kick_. Reeling, ringing with pain, they recoiled backwards; and as the thing seemed to clamp itself around Matthias and yank him back into his head, so Delta felt themselves tumbling back, back out, collapsing back into their body; and that body itself was suddenly unsteady –

            Delta fell back onto the grass, her limbs weak, her body shaking. The whole thing had taken barely a second. Eva had clutched at her, was holding her back; but she needn’t have bothered, for Delta was trembling like a leaf.

            Very slowly, Matthias Lanternwright raised his head. His expression was very, very different now. All smiles gone, all amusement banished, he stared with piercing, absolute, nakedly malevolent force, at the red-haired girl before him.

            “Oh no you _don’t_ ,” he breathed – and there was white-hot fury in his voice. “This one is _mine_. He is mine until the day he dies. And no jumped-up bitch like you is going to take him into her pretty little head.”

            “Delta,” said Eva urgently, “What did you just try to do?!” But she feared she already knew.

            “I’ve never heard that spell before,” said Lupin, staring in horror between Delta and Matthias. “Have you, Silvanus?”

            “No,” Silvanus told him. There was a sick feeling in his stomach. He felt like he had just witnessed something profoundly, twistedly unnatural.

            “You tried to steal his mind, didn’t you?” cried Eva. “You tried to take him out of his head, and put him in yours!”

            “There’s someone else in there!” gasped Delta, looking wildly around at them all. “This isn’t Matthias talking! Matthias is a prisoner!”

            “I’m astonished,” said Nikolai drily.

            “So what,” asked Lupin, “the Imperius curse?”

            “I don’t know,” said Delta with desperation. “I’ve never felt something like that before!”

            “You do this a lot then?” asked Silvanus bitterly. He was staring at Delta with repulsion on his face. “You steal people’s minds, and keep them for yourself?”

            “Not _keep_ them!” cried Delta. “Not like they’re my – my _things_! They become part of me! Part of _us_! All of us, in here together, in this body. On this slate. We all _share_ , Silvanus! We all _live together_.”

            She was so earnest – so honest – there was, Silvanus saw with wonder, no hint of either regret or concealment in what she said. This was simply the way it was for her. This was the reality that Delta lived, and as he looked into her bright, sincere eyes, he saw that she took its rightness, its naturalness, completely for granted. Not for the last time, Silvanus found himself wondering what Delta really was – how this alien, composite being could have come into the world.

            Nikolai was speaking.

            “Do we have any way of identifying whom we are talking to?” he asked them. “Any way of tracing this possession to its initiator?”

            Matthias gave him a contemptuous look. “You could just ask me, rich boy,” he remarked tauntingly.

            “This is no good,” said Eva decisively. “There’s no way we can trust anything this man tells us.”

            “We could torture him,” said Delta suddenly. She was staring at Matthias with a frantic, searching look on her face. Eva guessed that the failure of her spell had deeply unsettled her.

            “Delta, nobody is torturing anybody!” Lupin told her sharply.

            “Actually, it’s not a bad idea,” said Matthias laconically. “Go right ahead and torture this body, Delta. I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.”

            He grinned at her, a vicious glint in his eye.

            “It’s true,” said Silvanus, bitterly. “Anything you do to Matthias, only Matthias will suffer. You can’t get at the possessor.”

            “See, Silvanus gets it,” Matthias smirked. “We’re just talking on the phone here, you and I. We’re talking through a screen. _Matthias’s_ screen.”

            “This makes me sick,” said Lupin disgustedly.

            And Delta whispered: “Until the day he dies.”

            With no warning, with the same deadly, catlike swiftness that they had seen in her in the heat of combat, Delta twisted out of Eva’s grasp in one deft movement – and reached out her hand, and slashed her scalpel across Matthias’s throat.

            “No!” yelled Lupin and Silvanus, together. Blood spurted from Matthias’s neck, spraying over Delta, over Eva, as his body went instantly limp. Furiously, Silvanus raised his wand.

            “ _Alarte Ascendare!_ ” he yelled; and Delta was hurled upwards into the air, ten, twelve feet high, where with a jerk she halted, and hung suspended in the night.

            “Mr Lupin,” declared Silvanus, “I am not in control of my actions!” He felt wild – he felt fuelled by rage – there was blood pounding crazily in his head –

            “It’s alright, Silvanus!” cried Lupin desperately. He was staring all around as though for an answer – he looked, Eva thought, so helpless.

            “It’s not alright!” Silvanus insisted. He was gripping his wand as he pointed it tremblingly upwards, holding Delta unsteadily, twelve feet above the ground. “That man had a life!” he cried. “A family! He was a good man!”

            From her height, in a clear, steady voice, Delta called down to him.

            “He was a prisoner, Silvanus. He was being kept a prisoner in his own body. This was mercy.”

            “Mercy,” repeated Nikolai blankly, staring at Matthias’s bloodied corpse as though paralysed.

            “She’s right,” said Eva thickly. She felt sick, and desperate, and she wanted to leave. But she knew, inescapably, that she could not condemn Delta.

            Silvanus breathed heavily. He looked at Lupin, and spoke in a low, very serious voice.

            “Mr Lupin, I do not trust this girl. I do not trust her at all. And I don’t think we can leave her behind, but I also don’t believe we can depend on her not to use her … her _magic_ on us.”

            “The mind-theft,” murmured Lupin. He lifted his head, and gazed at Delta. Then he looked back at Silvanus.

            “You’re right,” he said simply. He looked deeply, deeply tired.

            “What are you going to do?” Eva asked him warily.

            “I’m going to disarm her,” he said. “And then I’m going to take us on. We’ve spent too much time here.”

            Lupin called upwards: “Delta, I want you to drop me your wand.”

            There was a pause. Then, “Okay,” said Delta. And the small, slender piece of wood dropped the twelve feet down, and landed on the grass. Lupin picked it up, and tucked it away in his robes.

            “Now,” he called, “We’re going to carry on. We need to get to the house of Pelagius Grey. Are you ready to come with us?”

            “Of course.”

            Lupin nodded to Silvanus, who reluctantly nodded back. Carefully, he lowered Delta to the ground again.

            “But we have to bury this man first,” Silvanus said to the group at large. “We can’t just leave him here.”

            “I’ll do that,” said Delta unexpectedly. Silvanus turned and faced her. “I’ll dig,” she said to him simply, looking at him with the same open, earnest directness as before. She was so familiar, he thought, and yet so utterly, entirely unpredictable. She made him feel, Silvanus reflected, like he could not go to sleep in her presence.

            But sleep tonight was a long way off, and he and Delta had work to do. Silvanus looked her in the eye, and nodded. Softly, she nodded back.

            “Would somebody please transfigure me a spade?” Delta asked.

            Eva picked up a broken twig, tapped it with her wand, and handed her the shovel. Without another word, Delta began to dig.

            “Now,” said Eva, and she turned to Nikolai. “What about you?”

            Nikolai grimaced. He looked very pale.

            “Well, I am in your debt,” he said. “I still have no idea who any of you are. But I owe you my life.”

            Eva, Lupin and Silvanus looked at each other. None of them spoke. Then, struck by a thought, Eva turned and looked at Delta. The red-haired girl seemed completely oblivious now to everything around her. She was focused only on her task: bent over her shovel, she was digging the grave for the man whose throat she had slit.

            Eva hesitated. Then she turned back to Nikolai. “You want to pay us back?” she said to him. “I can think of a way. Go back to your life and keep doing whatever you believe is important. But don’t tell a single soul that you met us here tonight. We have a mission to carry out, and we need to do it without being tracked. So if anyone asks, and if you need to tell them, you can say you fought off Matthias yourself. And you killed him yourself too.”

            Lupin and Silvanus stared at her in shock. But Eva was resolute. Nikolai looked at her for one moment with horror in his eyes, and she looked back, not flinching. Then he bowed his head.

            “Yes,” he said simply. “It is fair.”

            He looked around at them all. “In that case, I shall ask you no more questions. It is clear that you have your own battles to fight. I wish you all the best. And I shall be on my way.”

            With a steely, determined look in his eye, Nikolai Ardent the Second pulled his robes tight around him, walked over to the two dropped brooms, and picked them up. Moving with a slight limp, and not looking back, he walked away into the night.

            It did not take long to bury Matthias. Silvanus, as the only one among them who had any connection with the dead man, said a few simple, respectful words. When the grave was filled in, Eva ran her hand over its surface, and grass sprouted from the soil. It was as though he had never been there.

            And so Lupin, Silvanus, Eva and Delta turned away from the scene of this encounter, and headed on across the park. But a deep unease went with them. Try as she might, Eva could not shake the image of that glint-eyed, mocking smile. She could not stop herself wondering whom she had really met that night. The possessed was dead, but surely the possessor, whoever they were, was left unharmed at the other end of the severed connection. That mysterious enemy was still out there – and who could say what they might be doing now?


	9. In the House of the Dissenter

“The thing to understand about Pelagius Grey,” said Lupin, “is that when we ask him to help us, we will be asking him to compromise his principles.”

            The three of them stared at him blankly. They were gathered in a lamplit Kensington street outside a stately house, which seemed no more or less distinctive than any of the Muggle homes to its right or left. A single light shone from an upstairs window.

            “What,” said Silvanus, “he’s not on our side?”

            “I thought he was a friend of Dumbledore’s?” Eva frowned. “And he used to be high up in the Ministry, you said.”

            “He is, and he was,” sighed Lupin. “But he’s not exactly on anybody’s _side_. Mr Grey chooses to take no part in the war. He will not contribute his talents – which are prodigious, I might add – to the assistance of either side.”

            “Why not?” Eva asked him.

            “Because he has given up magic.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            “Pelagius Grey,” explained Lupin, “is a dissenter from the International Statute of Secrecy. He believes wizards are wrong to conceal themselves from the Muggles. And while he will not actively violate wizarding law by attempting to expose us, he has personally renounced the magical world for as long as it continues to exist in secrecy. This was many years ago now. He left the Ministry to campaign for open relations with the Muggles, and when no-one would listen to him, he became a kind of conscientious objector. He broke his wand in two, left the wizarding world, and went to live as a Muggle. I don’t believe he’s used a jot of magic since.”

            “He sounds like a crackpot,” commented Eva frankly.

            “No, he doesn’t,” said Delta. She sounded faintly impressed, and she was gazing with great interest up at the lit window.

            “Thankyou Delta,” said Lupin ruefully. “Now, luckily for us, we don’t actually need to ask him to do any magic. I wouldn’t be bothering at all if I thought we needed that. And it’s not like he never talks to wizards anymore – I know he remains in contact with certain friends, including Dumbledore. Where he draws the line is anything that involves him in wizarding affairs.”

            “Like the war,” Silvanus grimaced.

            “Exactly. So if he tells us where the Grim Vault is, that will mean bending his rules, because it would be helping us fight the war. I’m just hoping it’s small enough, and important enough, that we can convince him to make an exception.”

            “Brilliant,” Eva murmured. She was very conscious of the night drawing on. Somewhere out there, Sestia was being hunted by Death Eaters, risking her life just to protect the mysterious Avalon Key. And here they were, having to reason with some kind of eccentric ideologue, quite possibly gone senile, just to get hold of her location.

            “I don’t think we should all go in,” Lupin was saying. “Two of us should be enough; we don’t want him to feel like we’re imposing on his hospitality more than necessary.”

            “I’ll stay out here,” said Eva shortly. She knew she was nervy and impatient; if this conversation was going to require delicacy, best she stand back. Besides, there was a beautiful beech tree out here.

            “Right,” said Lupin quickly. “Silvanus, then: will you come with me?”

            Silvanus met his eyes, and knew he was trying to avoid letting Pelagius meet Delta.

            “Alright,” he said simply, and nodded.

            “Delta and I will keep watch,” Eva commented briskly. “Right Delta?”

            The girl looked at her abstractedly, then said, “Sure.”

            Lupin and Silvanus turned, and stepped up to the polished black front door. Eva leant against the tree, and watched as Lupin raised the heavy knocker, and knocked three times. A moment passed. And then they heard footsteps from within.

            The door opened, and Eva caught her breath. The man who stood within, half in shadow, was a far cry from the kind of tweed-bound, harmless figure she had begun to expect. Pelagius Grey was very tall, with iron-coloured hair that lay rakishly atop a lean, weathered, hard-jawed face. He wore a black suit and a white dress shirt – he might have stepped straight out of a sophisticated Muggle party. He looked at Lupin and Silvanus, and at the two young women beyond, with a coldly appraising gaze.

            “What do you want?” he asked quietly.

            “Mr Grey,” said Lupin – and Eva thought he sounded dangerously unsure of himself – “We work for Albus Dumbledore. I am sorry to come to you like this, but we wish to ask for your advice. Believe me, sir, I would never seek your help if it wasn’t a dire emergency. But there is information that I need, and I believe you have it. The Dark Lord has triumphed tonight –” and Eva saw Pelagius raise an eyebrow at that – “and everybody else I know is either captive, dead, or cannot be trusted. Please, sir …”

            He fell silent for a moment. Pelagius regarded him steadily. Glancing past Lupin and Silvanus, he treated Eva and Delta to a piercing stare, before looking back at Lupin. His face had remained impassive throughout.

            Lupin made as though to throw up his hands, but didn’t. “Please,” he said again. “I don’t know how many lives are on the line, but I know there is great danger, and little time. I need to ask you to help me.”

            The man’s forehead creased in a frown. When he spoke, it was as though he were a professor addressing a student who had disappointed him.

            “You clearly know enough about me to recognise the implications of your request, sir.” And though he called Lupin sir, he made it sound inconsequential, the merest of undeserved formalities. “You must know you ask more of me than you have any right. Especially as a stranger, unknown to me and bearing no introduction.” He surveyed the four of them sternly.

            Then after a moment, his face relaxed by the smallest of margins, into an expression of slightly bitter resignation.

            “But I will not turn you away,” he said. “Come in, sir. Am I to understand that your companions will not be joing us?”

            “We’re going to keep watch,” Delta told him. Again he raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

            “Yes,” said Lupin. “But my friend Mr Helga will join us.” And he added in a slight fluster, as though he had forgotten it: “My name is Remus Lupin, sir.”

            Pelagius Grey let slip a small, amused smile. “Please,” he said calmly, and stood aside to let them in. Lupin and Silvanus walked inside the house, and the door closed behind them.

            Delta was rummaging in the pockets of her coat. “Do you think anyone around here would want to buy some drugs?” she asked.

 

Silvanus followed Lupin and Pelagius up a narrow, carpeted flight of stairs. The house was richly furnished – whatever else Mr Grey had forsaken by becoming a Muggle, Silvanus reflected, he didn’t seem to have given up his wealth. As they were shown into the large room at the top of the stairs, Silvanus saw that the walls were lined with row upon row of books in shelves that reached to the ceiling; and on the thick, Persian-patterned rug between, there stood a number of heavy leather armchairs, and a small glass-topped coffee table that bore a crystal decanter of some dark, red drink.

            One of the armchairs was already occupied.

            “Professor Selena!” exclaimed Lupin, brought up short.

            “I’m afraid you are not to be my only guest tonight, Ariadne,” said Pelagius drily, closing the door behind Silvanus. “Do I take it that this young man is a former student of yours?”

            The woman who sat facing them was unfamiliar to Silvanus. She looked to be in her thirties. Her long, pale brown hair was tied back; she wore gold-rimmed glasses, and a simple, understated blue dress. She was looking at the two of them with faint surprise.

            “Young Remus,” she smiled, and set down her glass of the red drink as she rose to her feet, stepping forward to kiss Lupin on the cheek. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

            “It’s good to see you, Professor,” said Lupin, hastily recovering his composure. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

            “Hardly,” she commented mildly. “And you needn’t call me professor, Remus; it’s been three years since you graduated. Ariadne to you.”

            “Yes Professor,” he answered automatically, and flushed. She turned with an indulgent smile to Silvanus.

            “I don’t think I’ve met your friend?”

            “This is Silvanus Helga, um, Ariadne,” Lupin introduced him. “Silvanus, Professor Selena teaches Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts.”

            “Professor Kettleburn’s moved on then?” he asked as he shook her hand.

            “Sabbatical,” she said simply. “I’m filling in for the five years while he goes chasing beasts on the savannah. Good to meet you, Mr Helga.”

            She did not, Silvanus considered as he met her eye, give much away. Her manner was friendly and unaffected, but there was a deeper composure in her that suggested a kind of withholding – as though she carried deep and patient secrets.

            “Can I offer either of you a glass of port?” Pelagius interjected smoothly. He had moved to the table and was casually refilling his own and Ariadne’s glasses. Slightly uncomfortable, Silvanus glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in one corner. It was 11pm. He felt suddenly very conscious that they were intruding.

            “I’m fine without, thanks,” he answered Pelagius; and Lupin followed his lead.

            “Please, then. Do sit.”

            Silvanus and Lupin perched on the two vacant armchairs; Pelagius and Ariadne sank back, quite at their ease, in their own. There was a moment of silence, while Pelagius sipped at his port.

            “Well then,” he said eventually. “What exactly is it that you wish to ask me, Mr Lupin?”

            Lupin sat forward, and looked Pelagius seriously in the eye. “We need to know the location of the Grim Vault,” he said.

            “I see,” Pelagius answered quietly. “The Grim Vault. And what precisely is it that you wish to retrieve from that vault, Mr Lupin? Or are you simply hoping to stock up on Dark weaponry so that you can use it to vanquish your enemies?”

            “It’s not like that,” Lupin told him doggedly. “We don’t want to take anything that’s been put in the Vault by the Ministry – I wouldn’t touch Dark magic, sir, no matter what was at stake.”

            “Then why go there?” Pelagius asked him coldly.

            “Because two of my friends – my colleagues – have gone there on Dumbledore’s orders, to hide and protect something the Dark Lord wants. We were all attacked tonight, sir. We were devastated. So far as I know, they are the only two members of the Order besides myself who were not captured or killed, and I need to join them.”

            To the news of the crippling of the Order, Pelagius gave only the slightest frown. Ariadne, in contrast, sat forward in her chair with a look of deep concern.

            “The Order of the Phoenix are all captured?”

            “Yes,” Lupin told her – and then frowned. “You know about us?”

            “I am a teacher at Hogwarts, Remus. I may not be in the Order, but I’m lucky enough to be trusted by some of those who are. Is Minerva McGonagall among those captured?”

            Under the sudden urgency of her question, Lupin’s already tense, hunched shoulders seemed to stoop a little more. “I don’t know,” he answered. There was a silence.

            “Mr Grey,” Silvanus began, feeling he needed to add his weight to the persuasive effort, “We have reason to believe the Dark Lord is planning something even bigger than the attack on the Order. We’re losing the war, sir. We need everything we can get to carry on.”

            Pelagius looked at him, and his expression hovered in a distasteful space between sympathy and contempt.

            “You use that word so easily, Mr Helga.”

            “What word?” Silvanus answered defensively.

            “ _War_.” An unpleasant grimace twisted Pelagius’s face, and Silvanus saw Ariadne shoot him an apprehensive glance. “You call it a war, Mr Helga. You still insist on calling it a war. Mr Lupin!”

            Lupin started. “What?”

            “You are a member of Dumbledore’s Order; you are as well-placed as anyone to know the figures. How many people have died in the conflict between your community and the supporters of the Dark Lord?”

            Lupin blinked. “The killings have been steadily rising in the past year or two … it’s become a lot more intense than it was when Lord Voldemort first began recruiting, around ten years back. I believe including massacres of Muggles, more than three hundred people have now been killed.”

            “ _Ha!_ ”

            Pelagius’s laugh was grim and mirthless. He looked at the two of them, not so much with anger, as with bitterness; and Silvanus did not need to know his background to sense that Pelagius Grey had argued on this topic many, many times before.

            “Those people’s deaths are all tragedies, Mr Lupin, and I have nothing but respect for their memories. But in those ten years, the Muggles have slaughtered close to _one million_ of each other in Vietnam alone, and plenty more elsewhere. Angola, Lebanon, Cambodia. And not only does the wizarding community – which could do _so much_ to help prevent these wars, or even simply to alleviate suffering – not only do you continue to stand back and wash your hands of it, but you are self-obsessed enough to call your local power struggle a _war_. You are not fighting a war, Mr Lupin. You are a pair of rival gangs, skirmishing for dominance.”

            There was a tense silence. Ariadne laid a gentle hand on Pelagius’s knee. Neither Lupin nor Silvanus spoke.

            After a moment, Pelagius stood with a sigh, and strode over to the window to stare into the night. He spoke with his back to them.

            “This item your colleagues are guarding in the Vault. What is it?”

            “It’s something called the Avalon Key,” Lupin told him.

            At this, Pelagius turned sharply, and stared intensely at Lupin. “The Dark Lord wants the Avalon Key?!”

            “You know what it is?” exclaimed Lupin in surprise.

            “Of course I bloody well know what it is, I commanded the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!”

            “But what –”

            “Do I take it,” Pelagius talked over him, “that Dumbledore has entrusted you and your friends with the Avalon Key, but has not told you what it is?”

            “Those who have charge of it know,” Silvanus cut in. “Sirius Black and Sestia Cavanagh. They are guarding it in the Vault, and they know why it matters.”

            Pelagius glared at him. “Why was the Key moved from its vault at Gringotts? It has been kept there under the highest security for centuries, and that has never yet proven inadequate.”

            “Dumbledore retrieved it,” Lupin spoke up. “He was going to take it to Hogwarts and guard it personally there. I don’t know why, Mr Grey, but if Dumbledore judged it right, I can only guess that Gringotts is no longer as secure as once it was.”

            “Oh, this is just perfect,” muttered Pelagius furiously.

            “Mr Grey,” sad Silvanus, “Sirius and Sestia were told that they needed to keep this Key safe in order to _prevent Rosetta_. Can you tell us what that means?”

            Pelagius gave him an appraising look. “Does the name of Avalon not mean anything to you, Mr Helga?”

            “There is something familiar about it,” he said cautiously.

            “There bloody well should be. Avalon is an island in the English west – or _was_ an island, rather, back when so much of Somerset and Wiltshire were marsh and underwater. It is a place of great magical potency. It was known to Merlin, and it was sacred to his friend and pupil, the Muggle King Arthur.”

            “Then what is this Key? And what is Rosetta?”

            Pelagius sighed. He suddenly looked very weary.

            “The fantasy of unleashing Rosetta is a sick and evil dream – one that has haunted Dark wizards all through the ages. Every generation or two, there comes another demented sorceror who wants to use the Key and let it out. It seems Lord Voldemort is the latest. But there have been others, and one of those others was a man I brought down myself. Much of his property was judged too dangerous to be redistributed, and was stored in the Grim Vault – the very place where you are headed now. Among that property were a number of his books, books of magic too foul to be let slip back into the world. One of them is a true and secret history of the age of Arthur. Its pages are laced with Dark magic, sunk into the paper through long years of exposure to evil; but its text is uncorrupted. That book will tell you everything you need to know.”

            “Does this mean,” Lupin asked him, “that you are going to tell us where the Vault is?”

            “Yes,” said Pelagius tiredly. “Yes I am. Your mission is too important for me to refuse you.”

            He downed what was left of his port.

            “On Hampstead Heath there is an old, abandoned mansion called Caen Wood Towers. The Grim Vault lies beneath that house. Go down into the cellar, stand on the central flagstone in the floor, and speak the password _Tartarus_. It will draw you in.”

            Lupin rose to his feet. “Thankyou, Mr Grey. I’m immensely grateful to you.”

            “Don’t mention it,” said Pelagius quietly. Silvanus stood up, prepared to leave. Then suddenly, Ariande gave a short, brisk sigh, set down her glass, and rose to her feet too.

            “I’m going with them, Pelagius.”

            All three of them stared at her – Pelagius with a look of sudden dismay. “Ariadne … are you certain?”

            “Yes,” she said simply. “If the Order of the Phoenix is incapacitated, then the wizarding world needs all the help it can get. And you’ve made it clear enough that the stakes are high. I have friends among those who were attacked tonight, and I want to help Mr Lupin hang on to what they were fighting for.”

            She glanced at Lupin. “If that’s acceptable to you of course, Remus.”

            “Of course,” he answered, looking at her with relief and hope in his eyes. “Ariadne, thankyou.”

            “Don’t thank me yet,” she said grimly. “Thank me when I prove to be of some use to you.” She turned back to Pelagius, a tender look in her eye. “Pelagius … I guess I’ll contact you when this is over.”

            He looked at her, his mouth a hard, tight line. But he nodded. “Do what you have to do,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I honour you for going into battle.”

            Then he dropped his gaze, and glanced at Lupin. “Time you were all on your way then,” he remarked.

            The four of them made their way back down the stairs. With their new companion by their side, Lupin and Silvanus stepped back out of Pelagius Grey’s front door, into the cloudless, moonlit night. As he set foot on the pavement, Silvanus glanced behind him. He saw Pelagius standing in the doorway looking after them, and for one brief moment, he met his eye – serious, and sad, and strangely fearful. And then Pelagius closed the door.


	10. Voices and Space

The addition of Professor Selena to their party felt like the first good thing that had happened to Eva all night. Such, indeed, was her thrill and her joy at seeing her that she flung herself into her old teacher’s embrace. To Eva, Ariadne Selena represented one of the few purely happy experiences that she had found in her time at Hogwarts. She brought back memories of outdoor classes spent tending beasts on the edges of the beautiful Forbidden Forest, learning the ways of the natural world that Eva loved so much. Feeling like a weight had fallen, even if only momentarily, from her shoulders, Eva attached herself to Ariadne, and the two of them talked animatedly as Lupin led the party onwards.

            That left Delta with no-one to talk to. At first, this didn’t matter, because Lupin needed her expertise. Lupin was keen to make the journey to Hampstead Heath, in north London, as quickly as possible; and so he hit upon the notion of taking the Muggle Underground. Here was where Delta, who knew the ways of Muggle London, came into her own. Martin had been a Londoner for many years. With him directing, Delta led her four companions down into High Street Kensington station, cheerfully bought them tickets from a surly salesman – who warned them that the trains were stopping for the night, and they had best not dawdle – and led them through the cold, white-walled, nearly deserted tunnels, to board the train on the District line.

            But then she was alone. Eva and Ariadne sat beside each other and talked of Hogwarts; Lupin and Silvanus were a few seats away, conversing in low voices. Delta stood with one hand resting on the slim green-painted pole, and stood steadily, swaying gently with the motion of the train, and staring, not seeing, as the bare and empty stations slid past.

            There was discord among Delta, for their newest member was frightened and confused.

            _Why do I feel like this?_ Randall asked.

            The space in the mind is not like physical space. It would be wrong to say that Randall huddled, crouched, on a blank floor, amid a white space, while the other five stood at a distance. It would be wrong, because the many minds of Delta did not – could not – huddle, or stand, or occupy a white space. Their interactions were of a kind that cannot be visualised, cannot be described, for they were beings existing in a space where there is no space; and they did not move among each other, or touch each other, in the same way that people with bodies may do.

            But it is almost true to imagine that it was _like_ they did. And how else may Delta be understood?

            Elizabeth moved quietly to Randall’s side, and crouched down beside him. _How do you feel?_ she asked him gently. Behind her, Charlotte laid a cautioning hand on Joyce’s arm; for Joyce would have moved nearer to protect Elizabeth in case Randall lashed out – and that, Charlotte sensed, would have made Randall feel crowded.

            _I feel …_ Randall began. _I have this need. This drive. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted it._

 _Is he getting sappy over that meat-sack we snuffed?_ jeered Zachary.

            _No_ , said Charlotte sharply. _This isn’t about Matthias, I don’t think_.

            _Then what?_ asked Martin.

            _Shhh_ , Charlotte told him. _Let Elizabeth talk to him_.

            Randall had called Elizabeth a Mudblood. He had teased her for her shyness and calmness. And once he realised what she and Joyce did together when they went into their private corner, he had called her filth, pervert, fag, slut.

            And now she sat by his side, and listened, and did her best to care for him.

            _Who did you want to hurt?_ she asked him.

            And he answered, shuddering: _Antonin_.

            The moment came back to them all, vivid and clear. Their right arm pinning the hands of Antonin Dolohov behind his back, their left arm holding the scalpel to his throat – close, hard – and a trickle of blood had run down his neck – and while the crash and blare of battle raged all around them, they had known only Antonin Dolohov, as they whispered their questions in his ear …

            _I wanted him to hurt_ , Randall whimpered, very quietly. _I wanted to make him talk. And he was my … my …_

            For Antonin Dolohov had been the closest thing he had to a friend.

            _We needed to question Dolohov, Randall_ , Charlotte spoke up. _He was our best chance yet for tracking down our quarry_.

            Charlotte had been directing, in that moment. Charlotte was the one who knew how to dodge, grapple, jump, fight. But Randall had been part of it, had participated, and had _wanted_ to participate. They had _all_ wanted.

            _But why do I want to track her down?_ he cried out desperately. _Why do I care like this? Why is this me now?_

 _Because you are part of us_ , said Elizabeth simply. _And that means you share in our need._

 _Our need to find her_ , Charlotte agreed. _Our need to punish her._

            And Martin said: _For Hayley_.

            _But I didn’t know Hayley!_ Randall exclaimed. _Why do I care about her like this? Why do I want revenge for a girl who was_ – _who was a_ –

            _Don’t_ , said Charlotte, suddenly foreboding. _Don’t call her that_.

            And somehow, he couldn’t. He could call Elizabeth a Mudblood if he wanted – he could, and he frequently did. But when he tried to use that word of Hayley Watson, it seemed to stick in his throat.

            _You wanted to make Dolohov talk_ , Charlotte went on, _because you want to avenge Hayley. That is why you felt that way_.

            She called him Dolohov for formality, but Randall knew that she knew him – and knew a great deal _about_ him – as Antonin. They all did, because Randall did. The same way Randall knew that when they nicked the skin on Antonin’s throat and made that drop of blood run down, they were cutting very precisely just to the left of the carotid artery … and Randall had understood that, because Charlotte understood it. All their knowledge – all their memories – were on some level communal.

            He looked to Elizabeth, by his side. He wanted to ignore Charlotte. Charlotte, he knew, was the one who had pulled them all through. Before his time – after the Event, but before he joined, when the other five, the _original_ five, were first gathered in Delta – Charlotte had been the one who took charge, and taught them to work together. She had saved them. And for that, Randall hated her.

            _But why did I enjoy it?_ he asked Elizabeth, as he looked pleadingly, almost humbly, into her sympathetic eyes. _I didn’t just want to make him tell us about … her. I wanted him to be in pain. Him, in pain. My old … my friend. My good friend_.

            For a moment, Elizabeth’s face darkened. _That’s … not because of Hayley_ , she answered him regretfully. _That part – the enjoying it – that’s because of … him_.

            And she shot a glance, half contemptuously, half fearfully, at Zachary.

            And Zachary grinned at them.

            Randall shuddered again. _You enjoyed it_ , Elizabeth told him quietly, _because Zachary enjoyed it. And although we all still have our own feelings, our own thoughts, there is a way in which we’re all sharing now. That’s how we all like hearing those old jazz songs, because Martin does. That’s how we all have all the right instincts in combat, because Charlotte did training_.

            _And that, don’t forget_ , said Zachary slyly, _is how we all enjoy giving pain. Because ELIZABETH does_.

            Joyce moved – but Charlotte was faster. She caught Joyce around the waist and held her back as she lunged furiously towards Zachary.

            _Take that back!_ Joyce screamed at him. _Take that back, you disgusting, degraded –_

            _Oh, degraded am I?_ sneered Zachary. _You mean like the way you let Elizabeth degrade YOU?_

            _I consent, you monster!_ Joyce bellowed. _Elizabeth is NOT why Randall wanted to hurt Dolohov! Elizabeth would never hurt a soul who didn’t ask her to! That was all you, Zachary, that was ALL you!_

 _Please_ , begged Martin, _please Joyce, don’t fight him. You mustn’t fight him. He’ll hurt you_.

            Elizabeth came over to Joyce, and took her gently in her arms. Charlotte stepped back. _It’s okay_ , Elizabeth whispered. _What he says doesn’t affect me. I don’t care. And I don’t want you to waste your time on him for me_.

            Joyce was stiff, her face twisted in a grimace of hurt. Elizabeth just held her. And after a moment, Joyce gave a small, unhappy sob – and relaxed.

            _Now_ , said Elizabeth. She didn’t often speak up like this, to all of them at once. She was usually the quietest among them. But she wanted to talk now.

            _We have work to do_ , she said. _We’re helping Lupin find his comrades. We have to do whatever we can that will lead us to Hayley’s killer. We also have to reunite with our friends, because our friends will help us, like they have always helped us before_.

            _And we want to help THEM_ , Martin added.

            _Exactly. They need us too. But_ , Elizabeth went on, _it’s dangerous out there. The Death Eaters are powerful, and most of them are prepared to protect each other – as we discovered when we tried to get information out of Antonin. And besides … now we know there’s someone else out there. Someone different. Like we’ve never encountered before_.

            The memory rose up like a haunting shadow. That dark, raging thing in Matthias Lanternwright’s head. The thing that had spoken so smoothly and so cruelly through Matthias’s mouth ...

            All six of them shivered.

            _So Randall_ , said Elizabeth. _I know it’s hard. I know it’s scary. But this is us now, and you’re a part of us. Randall … are you going to be okay?_

He was very, very frightened. But in a strange, surprising way, Randall found he felt a little more secure. Slowly, he nodded.

            _Good_ , said Elizabeth. _That’s good. Now, we’re nearly at King’s Cross underground. I think we’re about to be needed again, don’t you?_

 

The conversation between Lupin and Silvanus might just as well have been birdsong to Delta, who had completely ceased to pay attention to anything around her. But Lupin and Silvanus didn’t know that, so they kept their voices very low.

            It had begun when Silvanus took the opportunity of the train ride to ask Lupin a question about something very different.

            “Mr Lupin,” he began, “I was wondering … Does the Order of the Phoenix know anything about the disappearance of Evanthe Moonshine?”

            Lupin gave him a wan, pitying smile.

            “That was Wayne’s first question too, when he joined. I’m afraid not, Mr Helga. The Order knew nothing more about what happened to your old schoolfriend than anybody else.”

            Silvanus nodded, silently. He was conscious of the rushing blackness outside – the cold, uncaring subterranean world, empty and brutal, just beyond the shivering windows of the train.

            “There was a photograph on the wall in Wayne’s cubicle,” he said dully, unsure why he was even continuing to talk about it. “Of the Talon. All five of us, when we were back at Hogwarts.”

            Lupin was respectfully silent. For a moment, Silvanus brooded, staring blankly into space. Then he checked himself. He needed to stay in the present. He needed to be alert.

            “By the way,” he said, casting around for something to distract himself, “There was a display I saw in Wayne’s cubicle too. Something he was working on. It was titled, ‘The White Wyvern Attack’.”

            This time, Lupin gave a short, bitter laugh.

            “Oh yes, I remember Wayne mentioning he’d been working on that. He was having no luck with it, of course.”

            “Why ‘of course’?” Silvanus asked.

            “Because the identity of the White Wyvern attacker is a mystery to everybody in the wizarding world,” said Lupin grimly. “Nobody knows who did it – not us, not the Ministry, not even, so far as we can tell, the Death Eaters. It’s a complete –”

            And then suddenly, he froze. He stared, transfixed, a look of horror and panic suddenly dawning in his eyes.

            “Mr Lupin?” said Silvanus, leaning forward with a frown. “Remus?”

            Lupin swallowed. Then he turned his head, very slightly, and stared intensely, transfixedly, at Delta.

            “Silvanus,” he said in a whisper, “listen to me very carefully. Do you know the White Wyvern pub, in Knockturn Alley?”

            “I do,” Silvanus confirmed.

            “Well, two weeks ago, somebody barricaded themselves in the White Wyvern with a trio of hostages. The Aurors laid siege to the place, but they didn’t want to storm it for fear that the prisoners would be killed. Hours and hours it lasted. And then, with no warning, there was some kind of massive explosion. And when it cleared, the attacker had gone. Gotten clean away.”

            “And the hostages?”

            “That’s the worst part,” said Lupin. “There were only three – the attacker chucked everyone else out of the pub at the beginning of the siege. They only wanted those three men. It was a Death Eater, and two Knockturn black market dealers he was meeting. The two dealers were found dead, with their throats slit. But the Death Eater …”

            Lupin shuddered. “He was found lying in the foetal position on the floor, his body covered in scars, shivering in a pool of his own blood. And he was jibbering senselessly, and drooling. Occasionally he had these sudden, violent spasms. Nobody could get a word out of him. Eventually, one of the Aurors tried legilimency. They went inside his head to see what was wrong.”

            A cold, creeping chill seemed to settle on Silvanus. “And?” he asked, his voice thick with dread. “What was wrong?”

            Lupin looked him in the eye. “There was nothing there,” he said. “Oh, there were a few scraps left behind, apparently. Scraps of memory. Ragged ends of thought. Shedded flakes of human personality. But to all intents and purposes, there was nobody in that man’s head. His mind was gone – not broken, just gone. One of the doctors in St. Mungo’s said it was like his mind had just been snatched out of his head.”

            Silvanus stared into Lupin’s eyes, digesting what he had heard.

            “This Death Eater,” he said after a moment. “Who was he?”

            “His name was Parrow,” Lupin answered. “Randall Parrow.”

            The two of them were silent. Both were acutely, painfully, fearfully conscious of the person who stood, her hand resting on a pole, just a few short yards away from them.

            “There’s one more thing,” said Lupin. “About the White Wyvern attack. There was a message left on the wall of the room where the bodies were found. All in capital letters, and massive, covering the whole wall. A message scrawled in blood.

            “I’M COMING FOR YOU, BELLATRIX.”


	11. Delta's Friends

It seemed to Eva that Lupin was growing even more tense than usual. At King’s Cross station, as Delta calmly led them through the chilly underground tunnels, Lupin wrapped his dirt-stained trenchcoat tightly around him and walked with stiff shoulders and watchful eyes. Silvanus, Eva noted, seemed to be keeping close to him. She supposed Lupin was naturally growing more nervous – they were about to walk into a place where there might well be Death Eaters ahead of them, after all. Still, something about his demeanour bothered her.

            Not that she could talk much about keeping calm. Eva hated these tunnels. She was cut off from the earth, from the night wind, from everything that was green and growing. Too long down here and it made her feel anxious, underslept, and slightly unsteady on her feet. Talking to Ariadne was a first-rate distraction, but by now, even so, she could feel the queasy insecurity creeping into her bones.

            They boarded the last train on the Northern line, that would carry them to Hampstead. The carriage was all but empty: two Muggles sat, alone, in different corners. Eva spared them each a glance – a weary-eyed young woman in a drab business suit, reading a magazine, and an old man who sat with his head bowed, doing nothing. Her head feeling slightly groggy, she sank into a chair in the middle of the carriage.

            They had all fallen silent, Eva noticed, as the train went on its rattling, speedy way though alternating patches of darkness and glaring light. Almost no-one seemed to be departing or boarding at the white-walled stations where the train periodically slowed and stopped. Lupin and Silvanus seemed to have run out of things to talk about – they were both just sitting there, looking grim. Ariadne, sensing that Eva didn’t feel up to more conversation, was giving her space and seemed to be absorbed in her thoughts. Delta stood, as so often, gazing blankly into space.

            It was very cold, Eva reflected. Hell, it was Summer up there – turning slowly to Autumn, but still, it had been warm enough today. Down here beneath the earth, it seemed the heat did not penetrate. A chill had permeated the train, and she shivered beneath her coat.

            With an abrupt lurch, and with a great, long-drawn-out screech, the train began to slow.

            “Uhhhh,” groaned Eva. “Can’t they slow down more gradually?”

            “But they do,” frowned Ariadne. “And we’re not at a station.”

            She was right. There was only black, blank darkness outside.

            “Then why are we stopping?” asked Lupin. He looked at Delta – almost suspiciously, Eva thought. “Delta, do the trains stop between stations?”

            There was a deep, unpleasant crunching noise, like a machine grinding its teeth. The train shuddered violently, and with a few more sickly lurches, slowed to a complete halt. The brick, unlit wall of the tunnel rested just a few inches beyond the windowpane.

            “No,” said Delta worriedly, staring around her. “This isn’t normal.”

            The two Muggles were also looking perplexed. The train now seemed perfectly still. Eva peered towards the two ends of the carriage, where through the windows set in the low connecting doors, other carriages could be glimpsed. But she saw only empty train, stretching away in both directions under the sallow electric lights.

            It really was very, very cold.

            And then they heard it. From a carriage ahead of them, towards the front of the train, came a wailing, despairing, blood-curdling scream.

            Eva felt herself rising to her feet as though in slow motion. She was aware of Lupin, Delta, all of them swivelling with her, to look towards the sound. It seemed to take an age just for her to turn her head. She felt sick to the stomach. Somehow, she knew what she would see.

            It was two carriages ahead of them. Its hooded head brushing the low ceiling, its great black hands outspread. Its black-robed mass filling the breadth of the train. Its hideous intent not needing to be stated, for it was felt, felt deep in the heart, with a deadening, soul-curdling chill. Massive, merciless, a being formed from the darkest of dark pits. And though they knew there were no eyes in the face beneath that hood, still they felt something like a gaze – a powerful, terrible, deliberate gaze. A gaze that was fixed, unwavering, on them.

            Like some great, festering carcass drifting up out of a deep black sea, the Dementor was moving towards them.

            It was Ariadne who moved first. Eva sensed her plunging forward, drawing her wand, and calling –

            “Remus, with me – I know you can produce a Patronus!”

            But Eva could feel everything happy draining away, like lukewarm water down a deep, deep drain …

            “Who else can cast it?!” she heard Lupin calling, very far away. “Silvanus? Eva?”

            But the carriage was growing dark. Her father’s voice was loud. He was angry. Billowing shadows enveloped all she could see.

            Oh please let it end, she thought. Let me go. Let me die. The swirling black hopelessness was washing everything away. The carriage had gone very dim. And there was nothing, nothing, that made it worth staying in this world.

            Someone was calling her name. Eva. Eva …

            “Eva!”

            She gasped, and there was something cold on her face. Was she still on the train? She could see a face, a face with a scar.

            “Eva!” called Delta again. “Feel cold, Eva! Focus on the cold!”

            She was awake. She was here. There were yells and flashes, and Delta was bending over her, staring intensely into her eyes.

            “You _can_ stay, Eva! Just hold on tight! Hang on to everything you don’t need feelings for!”

            It was awful, awful. And she heard Lupin yelling, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” – but although she was aware of a silver light, it was very dim, and still she could feel the Dementor coming closer.

            Eva sat up, and then felt so sick she nearly fell back, but Delta caught her. Suddenly there was a great, dreadful screech of tearing metal. Eva looked past the figures of Lupin, Ariadne, and a staggering Silvanus, towards the door of their carriage … and saw that it wasn’t there anymore. The Dementor had simply ripped it away. Into the narrow space, with its sick, slime-coated hands reaching out to them, the Dementor came.

            Eva pulled herself to her feet, Delta steadying her. Ariadne and Lupin were both yelling the same words, their wands flickering weakly with pale silver glimmers as they stepped fearfully back, retreating before the monster. Inexorably the Dementor advanced, gliding indifferently over the old Muggle man who lay huddled and shivering on the floor. The other woman, Eva realised, lay in a dead faint behind her. Silvanus was gripping Eva’s shoulder. The five of them had drawn close together, all their eyes fixed on it.

            “It’s okay,” said Delta. “Let me. I can –”

            _CRUNCH!_

            It came from above their heads. It was a deafening, splintering, screeching, ripping noise of metal. Directly downwards, into their midst, a second Dementor tore through the ceiling like some plunging bird of prey.

            “No!” screamed Silvanus. “Dear Merlin, no!”

            They were on the floor, scrambling, screaming and moaning with horror. Lupin was waving his wand wildly upwards, yelling the Patronus Charm, but nothing was happening. Eva felt her stomach heave, and she vomited violently, shuddering as she collapsed and her head banged against the hard, sick-slippery floor. The world was reeling and spinning. Her father was yelling. A pair of slimy, iron-strong hands was gripping her shoulders.

            Something light-footed and gentle, with a faint silver glow, leapt up and set one weightless front paw on her head. For a moment Eva’s vision cleared. She saw a glimmering wolf standing over her, looking up into the face of the Dementor. She saw Silvanus firing jets of flame at the other one. She saw Lupin still flailing on the floor. She saw Delta standing tall and fearless in the middle.

            Delta, standing tall and fearless, in the middle.

            “Dopamine,” she was saying courteously. “Or Seratonin. Either one.”

            She was talking to the Dementors. She was looking them in their hooded faces. She was addressing them directly.

            “I can give you stuff that will prolong the effects as well,” she said. “Seratonin re-uptake inhibitors are easy. Have either of you tried any of these before?”

            For the Dementors had gone very still.

            “Delta!” gasped Silvanus. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing?!”

            “It’s okay Silvanus,” she answered, glancing down at him. “I can talk to them.”

            “You talk to Dementors?” cried Lupin, his voice teetering between disbelief and horror.

            “Of course,” she said, looking at him innocently. “The Dementors are my friends.”

            For a single moment, all was still. Delta’s words seemed to echo in the silence.

            Then the Dementors moved.

            Eva felt the hands that had been gripping her shoulders suddenly release her, as both Dementors turned, moving incredibly fast, and swooped, dived, upon Delta. Their ragged cloaks billowing, the two of them seized her violently by the arms. A look of shock and brief confusion passed across Delta’s face. But she did not resist.

            The Dementors turned, Delta between them – and began to race away down the train.

            “Wait!” screamed Eva. She had no idea what was happening, but she knew she didn’t want Delta to go. Desperately she struggled back to her feet.

            “Delta!” she yelled, and began running, running full-pelt forward through the train. She heard footsteps pounding after her and knew the others were following. “Where are they taking you?” she roared, hoarse-voiced. “What’s going on?!”

            And Delta called: “Let me go, Angel.” Her voice was quivering, but she spoke with resolve. “I need to go with my friends. I will find you again.”

            They were going too fast. She saw the Dementors glide out the front of the train, where the driver’s cabin was smashed apart, and the black underground tunnel stretched ahead. The light failed. The Dementors were carrying Delta away.

            Eva stumbled, fell to her feet, and lay panting on the cold floor. She realised she could feel the atmosphere changing. The despair welling up inside her had subsided, had shrivelled away. A draft of air drifted over her that was almost warm. They were gone. The Dementors were gone, and for reasons that could not be comprehended, they had taken Delta with them.

            Lupin, Silvanus and Ariadne brought themselves up short beside her. Ariadne bent down, and helped Eva to her feet.

            “What happened back there?” asked Silvanus, his face white as a sheet. “Why did they take her?”

            “It had me,” Eva gasped. “One of them – it was going to give me the –”

            She couldn’t say it, but they knew.

            “They completely ignored us from the moment Delta started speaking to them,” said Ariadne. “It was like they were transfixed by her.”

            “But not in the way she expected,” said Eva urgently. “I saw her face when they grabbed her. She did _not_ look like she saw that coming. She was just as surprised as the rest of us.”

            “They were very, very interested in her,” Lupin said slowly. “But … only when she started talking to them. Did either of them give any sign of particular interest in Delta, _before_ she spoke up?”

            They all shook their heads. There had been nothing.

            “She didn’t seem … affected, though.” Eva was thinking out loud. “She woke me up, kept me from passing out, when the first Dementor was coming. And she seemed totally clear-headed. They just didn’t seem to phase her.”

            “Who is Delta?” asked Ariadne. “I mean, who _is_ she?”

            Lupin gave a ragged, mirthless laugh. “Good question, Ariadne.”

            “We have to go after her,” said Eva desperately. “We have to find her.”

            “No,” said Lupin sharply. Eva opened her mouth to speak again, but he cut her off – “Eva, even if we had the first idea how to track them down, you know as well as I do that we have other priorities. Think of Sestia. Think of our friends in the Grim Vault. Besides …”

            Lupin shot a dark glance at Silvanus. “Besides, I can’t pretend there isn’t a part of me that feels a little bit relieved.”

            “ _What?!_ ”

            Eva stared at him, blood pounding in her head. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

            “Eva, calm –”

            “Don’t tell me to calm down! You’re glad she’s gone, aren’t you? She helped you, she followed you, and now you’re glad she’s gone!”

            “Eva,” said Silvanus gently. “You know what Delta tried to do to Matthias, back in the park?”

            “Yeah I know, she was going to put his mind in her head. She’s – she’s a composite person, Delta. She’s many people, but they – they all add up to one. They all add up to Delta. And Delta was good. She was a good person!”

            “We don’t know that,” said Lupin quietly.

            “She respected you!” Eva yelled at him. “She trusted you, and she – oh God. Oh my … Merlin’s beard. _Fuck_.”

            “What?” asked Ariadne, frowning.

            “Her wand!” cried Eva, staring in horror at Lupin. “She doesn’t have her wand! You took it off her, at the park!”

            Lupin’s eyes widened in shock. Blankly, he reached inside his robe, and pulled out Delta’s wand.

            “Oh no,” breathed Silvanus, staring at it. “She’s defenceless.”

            Lupin gazed at the wand, his face torn, his expression softening into a genuine look of regret.

            “I mean,” said Eva in desperation, “she’s not exactly _defenceless_. We’ve seen what she can do with that scalpel.”

            “I don’t understand,” said Ariadne. “You didn’t trust her? You confiscated her wand? But why was she even working with us?”

            Lupin sighed, very deeply. “Perhaps it’s best if we do just fill you in,” he said. “But let’s talk as we go, Ariadne. We have to start walking.” And he looked ahead of them, out through the broken front of the train, down the dark, deserted tunnel ahead.

            “He’s right,” said Silvanus tiredly. “We do need to move. Let’s get to the next station and at least get above ground, as quickly as we can.”

            Eva looked between them. Her head was spinning again. She felt disoriented, and queasy. She felt, more acutely than ever before, that she was in the grip of a mysterious, hostile, and friendless world.

            “Alright,” she said thickly. She met Lupin’s eye, and gave him a cold, cold look. “But I’ll take the wand,” she told him. “If Delta comes back, it’ll be me she comes to.”

            Lupin hesitated. But it was clear he didn’t want to argue. Reluctantly, he handed over Delta’s wand, and Eva stuffed it in an inside pocket.

            “Above ground,” she murmured, half to herself. “Alright then. Above ground.”

            Ariadne was looking at her with intense concern. Stiffly, Eva let her former teacher take her by the arm. They began to walk forward again, down the train; and after a moment, Ariadne was helping her down onto the tracks, in the cold, dark tunnel. Ariadne didn’t ask anything more about Delta just yet. Eva sensed, dimly, that she was waiting until they had gotten out of the London Underground. Professor Selena had intuited something that perhaps she had suspected long before: that for Eva, being in contact with things that were green and growing was more than just a pleasure. It was a necessity.

            The four of them followed the railway tracks towards the distant, faint light of the next station. The underground wind, cold and pitiless, blew fitfully through the tunnels all around.


	12. A Touch of Indigo

The Dementors’ hands gripping her shoulders were as tight as iron vices. The two great black shapes, one on either side of Delta, were moving at great speed. Up out of the subway tunnels they had rushed, and now they swept purposefully through the streets of London, their black robes rippling in the night wind. Delta was aware of Muggles – many Muggles – stopping, turning, and staring, at the sight of the red-haired girl seemingly gliding unsupported through the night, her legs dangling several feet above the ground.

            She was trying to talk to the Dementors, but she was getting no response. Delta’s two captors kept their hooded faces fixed on the streets ahead, and blankly, stubbornly, determinedly ignored every word that their prisoner spoke to them. She offered them more drugs – she asked what they wanted, how she could help them – she declared her respect for them, her desire to learn from them – but all her entreaties were met with silence.

            This was not frightening to Delta. It was far, far wose than merely frightening. The silence of the Dementors was a wrongness, a failure, a deep and awful betrayal. Something basic and mutual to all six of Delta – for it came from the slate, from what had been before them, from Diana herself – was alienated, rejected, by the silence of the Dementors. Never once in Diana’s experience had the Dementors been silent. That much Delta knew. From Diana, all of Delta had inherited two essential truths. Hayley must be avenged. And when they spoke to Dementors, the Dementors would listen. The Dementors would communicate. The Dementors, after all, were their friends.

            _And if these ones won’t acknowledge us_ , Joyce was saying, _that means they’re different_.

            _Different how?_ said Zachary sharply.

            _Different in allegiance_ , she answered him firmly. _They don’t answer to us. They answer to somebody else_.

            _What_ , said Martin in confusion, _you mean they’re not Azkaban Dementors?_

            _I mean they’re working for Lord Voldemort_ , said Joyce. _And think about it. It’s been months and months since Diana last had contact with our friends. We know that in that time, Voldemort has consolidated his grip on this country. We know he’s made advances into the Ministry, maybe also into Gringotts. It stands to reason that his grip on his Dementor army would be strengthened. He can offer them more souls now. He can make them choose him, instead of choosing freedom_.

            _Wait_ , said Charlotte, with dread in her voice. _Are you saying that our friends might not be our friends anymore? That they might be working for … him?_

 _That doesn’t feel right_ , muttered Randall. _Everything I know about our friends – I mean, through you guys – I don’t think_ –

            _No_ , Joyce agreed. _Not the ones we knew. Or at least, not the core of our group. Some of them might have changed_.

            _But these ones_ , said Charlotte, _these ones were never with us. Never knew Diana. Is that what you’re saying?_

            _Loyalists_ , said Elizabeth quietly. _The war has advanced, and the Dementors have all chosen sides. And those who are on his side … well, what do you think we look like to them?_

            _Exactly_ , said Joyce grimly.

            _So what then?_ cried Randall. _What can we do? Does this mean we can never trust the Dementors after all? How do we know which of them are our friends, and which will capture us on sight?_

 _Don’t get ahead of yourself_ , Charlotte told him sharply. _Right now we need to focus on the present situation. If these Dementors are working for Voldemort, then we are being carried into immense and immediate danger. We can’t assume anything. And we need to be ready_.

            _But that means we can’t trust Dementors_ , Randall insisted. _Not anymore. Not these, not any others. We’re on our own_.

            _No_ , said Martin abruptly.

            _What do you mean?_ Joyce asked him.

            _We can’t give up on them_ , cried Martin, his urgency ringing in their head. _We need to keep trying to reach them. We can’t just give them up for lost_.

            _We can’t rely on them, Martin_ , said Charlotte.

            _We are their ally_ , he insisted. _We can offer the Dementors things that no-one else can. Just because some of them have chosen the Dark Lord, that doesn’t mean we can just abandon them to their slavery!_

            _Everyone_ , said Elizabeth. _Look ahead_.

            Their attention flicked instantly to the road before them. Vast and gleaming in the silver moonlight, towering far and far above them, was a Muggle skyscraper. It was sleek, glass-walled, steel-framed – a concentrated monolith, clad in panels of hard bright cold. The Dementors were racing directly towards its base, where two great glass doors mirrored the moonlit street. Two black-robed, hooded figures stood motionless on either side.

            _Death Eaters_ , said Joyce.

            _In a Muggle building?_ Martin wondered.

            _Very well_ , said Charlotte with decision. _Then this is it. Everybody: we need to be ready for anything. We’re going into a Death Eater lair_.

            The Dementors slowed to an abrupt halt before the door, and Delta’s body swung awkwardly between them. The men in the black hoods stared at her wordlessly for a moment, then turned their heads to look at her two captors. Delta heard nothing, for Dementors do not speak with sounds; but she sensed that one of the Dementors was addressing them – its voice whispering directly into their heads.

            _Stay connected with each other,_ Charlotte was saying, _every single one of you. And stay completely alert to the world outside us. Randall, I know this will be your first time on high alert. You need to be as present as you possibly can_.

            _I think I understand_ , said Randall grimly. _It’s almost like we … merge?_

            _No_ , said Joyce sharply. _We’re still separate. We’re still ourselves. We just … SEEM more like one person_.

            _Because we hold each other TIGHTER_ , came Zachary’s venomous whisper.

            One of the men turned, drew wand from within his robe, and tapped a small black buttoned panel on the wall beside the entrance. The glass doors slid apart. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Dementors swooped inside.

            _So I need us all to work together,_ Charlotte went on. _This is life or death for us, and that means freedom or slavery for our friends, and vengeance or oblivion for Hayley._

            They were gliding across a vast and lightless atrium. They passed into an elevator at the far end. Its ceiling had been taken off and the shaft above was exposed. Without hesitating, the Dementors lifted her upwards, and they were sailing vertically up through the hollow, cold space. The great black hulks of the Dementors completely filled the shaft, their robes brushing on the walls at every side.

            _Connect_ , said Joyce.

            _Connect everything_ , said Elizabeth.

            _We need to be in unison_ , said Charlotte. _We need to be resolved_.

            _I am ready_ , said Elizabeth quietly.

            _Me too_ , said Joyce.

            In their mind, they were stepping towards each other. They were standing in a small circle, facing each other, staring into each other’s eyes. Charlotte and Zachary and Martin and Randall and Joyce and Elizabeth.

            _I’m ready_ , said Martin. _Let’s face whatever we’re facing_.

            _Bring out the enemy_ , said Zachary with a mirthless grin.

            _Bring it out_ , said Randall. _We’re here. We’re ready to meet it_.

            _We can face anything_ , said Elizabeth.

            The Dementors had reached the top of the shaft.

 

The doors at the top slid aside. Swiftly down a corridor to knock on an unmarked door. It opened. And Delta found herself face to face with Antonin Dolohov.

            “You!” he exclaimed, starting back in repulsion and fear at the sight of Delta’s face. Evidently the memory of her scalpel to his throat, her whispers in his ear, had hardly faded.

            The Dementors bore her purposefully inside, and Delta barely had time to register the spacious, stylishly furnished penthouse apartment – the tall, narrow chairs and the glass-topped dining table, the thick cream carpet, the wall of floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out on the lights of the London skyline – before she saw that other man from Peter Street – Karkaroff, that was his name – standing up from a chair in a startled, fearful motion.

            “What is she doing here?!” he cried. “All new prisoners are to be taken to Peter Street, that was made perfectly clear!”

            “Why have you brought her here?” Dolohov demanded of the Dementors. “Please explain this extraordinary breach of your instructions.”

            The Dementor on Delta’s right turned its head very slightly. It stared at Dolohov. And watching his face, Delta saw his look of angered wariness drain suddenly away. All aggression, all authority, seemed to leak out of his face like blood rushing from a wound, leaving him looking sickly, horrified, and dumbstruck.

            “No,” he whispered. “ _Her?_ This girl?”

            “Antonin, what on Earth is going on?” asked Karkaroff sharply. “What is it saying?”

            Dolohov turned slowly, and shot him a look of unmistakeable desperation. “It says this is the Dealer,” he told him. “This girl. This girl is the Dealer.”

            Delta did not know what he meant. But something about the way he said “Dealer” – the word somehow loaded with heavy, mysterious, fearful significance – made her feel even more tense than she already was. It seemed to have the same effect on Karkaroff, who glanced at her in sudden shock, then looked urgently back at Dolohov.

            “The Dealer? Are they sure?”

            “It seems as sure as it could possibly be,” said Dolohov with a shudder. Delta noted that both men were visibly straining to stay composed in the presence of the Dementors. And it seemed as if her own presence were more disturbing still.

            “Then …” said Karkaroff. “Then we need to tell the Captain. Don’t we?”

            “Yes,” said Dolohov – half-unsure, as though convincing himself. “She’ll want to be disturbed for this.”

            Delta blinked. She recalled Dolohov mentioning “the Captain” back at Peter Street; she had assumed, at the time, that he was talking about Lord Voldemort. But a “she”? For a single moment, exhilaration coursed through Delta’s head. Could it be – could it possibly be that the Dementors had brought her directly to the very person she wanted to find?

            But Delta was mistaken, for Bellatrix Lestrange was not in that apartment that night. She was far away. And Delta was about to meet someone very, very different indeed. For even as this feverish ray of hope ran abruptly through her thoughts, she heard a voice speak from one side. A voice that sounded soft, and playful, and laced with needles.

            “Not keeping secrets from me are you, boys? I simply _have_ to know what’s got you both so flustered.”

            The Dementors, as though in deference to a superior power, turned on the spot to face the voice, and Delta turned with them.

            Before them stood a young woman. She was dressed in Muggle garments: skinny blue jeans and a plain dark blouse, a leather jacket slipped coolly over the top. Her wand sat lightly in her left hand. Her wavy brown hair was tucked behind her ears and fell in a careless tumble down her back. She seemed relaxed, her body held loose, untroubled. And on her face, as Delta looked down into her bright green eyes, she saw a smile. A smile that Delta had seen before, not three hours ago. A smile that was chillingly, twistedly, nightmarishly familiar.

            Delta knew, as surely as anything she had ever known, that she was looking into the face of Matthias Lanternwright’s possessor.

            Those green eyes narrowed.

            “Little _Delta_ ,” the woman breathed. Her gaze was fixed on Delta’s, and across her face was spreading a look of ghoulish, hungry glee. “Oh but this is _perfect_. Hello, Delta. It’s absolutely splendid of you to come pay us a visit.”

            She gave Delta a familiar smirk, as though they were old, intimate friends.

            “Captain …” began Dolohov, sounding hesitant and frightened. “Captain, there’s something more.”

            “Yes?” she asked him with a frown, clearly irritated at the distraction.

            “Well, the Dementors say that this … that this girl … she’s the Dealer, Captain. They say they’ve caught the Dealer.”

            The woman’s expression froze. Her eyes widened. For a moment she looked simply disbelieving. Then she turned her gaze back to Delta, and stared her in the face once more. Her gaze was piercing and bright as a searchlight.

            “ _You?_ ” she whispered. “You, Delta? This …” and her eyes flickered briefly to the Dementors, and back again – “this girl, this _creature_ is the Dealer? Oh, but it would make sense. It would make so much sense …”

            There were horrible, tingling shivers running all down Delta’s spine. For the first time, she forced herself to speak. “I don’t know who you are,” she began, her voice trembling. “And I don’t know what you –”

            “Stop talking, Delta.”

            The woman called the Captain had spoken plainly, without fuss. Her expression barely changed. But as she spoke, her gaze still holding fast to Delta’s, there was a flash in her eyes that made Delta’s throat clench tight with fear, and all her words were cut away.

            For one moment more those bright green eyes bore into her head. Then abruptly the woman turned – sharply, authoritatively – to one of the Dementors.

            “Tell me everything,” she instructed. “Every single thing. What happened?”

            The seconds stretched out like a long, taut wire. The woman stared resolutely at the hooded face of the Dementor, listening closely. And as Delta watched her, she realised something very, very strange.

            Everybody that Delta, or Diana before her, had ever met, was emotionally, physically, and psychologically affected by the presence of Dementors. They started to sweat. They shuddered. They showed fear, hopelessness, despair on their faces. They were fighting down the bubbling, surging, sickly murk of horror that was rising up within them, rising up to drown them in its black depths. And even those people who were good at keeping their feelings hid, still could not help but give away what was happening inside them when a Dementor stood before them. Only one person in all Delta’s experience was able to remain unaffected by Dementors – and that person was Delta herself.

            But as she watched this woman standing coolly before these two Dementors –unhurried, unphased, at total ease and in total control – Delta knew that she was no longer the only person with that gift.

            After another minute had gone by, she turned in an almost stately manner back to Delta, and spoke with a quiet, deadly resolve.

            “We are going to talk,” she said. “You and I are going to have a friendly little chat, Miss Delta. And we are going to clear a few things up.”

            Abruptly, she addressed Karkaroff and Dolohov. “Have the Dementors take her into my chamber and tie her to a chair,” she said. “Be sure to confiscate her wand and scalpel before you do one thing more. The scalpel is like a small knife – you will find it on her somewhere. Quite possibly still stained with blood,” she added, and glanced malevolently into Delta’s face.

            “I always wipe my weapons clean, _Captain_ ,” whispered Delta before she could stop herself.

            The woman raised an eyebrow. “And tie her _thoroughly_ ,” she added smoothly. “Little Delta is fast and little Delta is clever. Little Delta needs to be tied up very, very tightly. And then the four of you –” she spoke to both the Dementors and both the men – “will leave her with me.”

            The Dementors bore Delta past the woman and through a door that stood open at one side of the apartment. In a spacious room beyond, one of its walls another vast sheet of floor-to-ceiling glass, Delta glimpsed a large, sumptuous double bed, before the Dementors spun her around to face the door as Dolohov and Karkaroff marched in behind them. Karkaroff was dragging a chair, which he set against the wall facing the foot of the great bed. Meanwhile Dolohov, sweat running visibly down his face, stepped up to Delta and began rummaging swiftly through all her pockets. It was only at this moment that Delta remembered all of what had happened after that encounter back in Hyde Park.

            “It’s not there,” she said quietly to Dolohov. “I don’t have my wand anymore.” He glanced quickly at her face, fearful, mistrusting. “But you know what I do have,” she went on, even quieter. “I do have my scalpel. Do you remember the scalpel, Antonin?”

            He had found it, and with relief he recoiled from her body, the scalpel gripped in his hand. “Put her in the chair,” he said loudly to the Dementors. “Karkaroff, get out of the way!”

            The Dementors spun her around, and set her down in the waiting chair. And as she was turned to face the bed, she saw for the first time that they were not the only ones in the room. Spread-eagled on the bed there lay another woman, motionless.

            Too motionless.

            Her hair was black. She lay in what seemed a contorted, unnatural sprawl across the covers. Her clothes were oddly dishevelled – twisted and disarrayed in ways that looked strange. On her face, staring up at the blank ceiling, was a look of fixed, unwavering, stone-cold dread.

            Delta looked up at the Dementors that were still holding her tightly in place to the chair, while Karkaroff scrambled to secure her with ropes. For one last time, she spoke directly to her captors. She spoke simply, with firm but urgent sincerity.

            “I am trying to help you,” she said quietly. “All of you. You and all your kind. I don’t want to take anything away from you. I don’t want to harm you. I just want to offer you choices. To offer you changes. I would never force anything on you. But I’ve reached out to you, time and time again. It’s what I do. And I’m asking you not to let me be hurt. Because as far as I can see, I’m the only one there is who wants to treat you like a free being. The only one who is offering you my respect.”

            The Dementors looked at her. She could sense their attention, and it was fixed on her words. But their huge wet hands, holding her in place, did not slacken. And she heard no whispering voice inside her head. They were not responding.

            “Karkaroff, get a fucking move on!” said Dolohov sharply – and he sounded more angry and more frightened than ever. Delta did not take her gaze from the Dementors, but out of the corner of her eye she could see him, and his face bore a look of deep, desperate alarm. “Get her secure,” he went on heatedly, “so I can send these fucking creatures back out of this apartment, for fuck’s sake!”

            “It’s nearly done!” cried Karkaroff – and he sounded, if anything, even more shaken than Dolohov. Delta could feel him fumbling as he tightened her bonds. Steadily, she kept her gaze on the Dementors.

            “Please,” she said quietly. “Please. I love you.”

            Karkaroff straightened up. “It’s done,” he said. “She’s secure.”

            And she was. Delta was bound to the chair as tightly as could be. She could not get away.

            “Thank Merlin,” said Dolohov. And to the Dementors: “Get out. Get the fuck out of this apartment. Go back on the street and get on with your duties, right the fuck now.”

            For just one moment, they did not move. Delta was acutely conscious of their hands, still on her shoulders. Then both of them turned, and swooped obediently out of the room.

             From the doorway, the woman called the Captain spoke. “Now, that’s much more pleasant for you boys, isn’t it? So run along now and go back to whatever you were doing. Delta and I are going to need a little privacy.”

            Not looking at Delta, and visibly relieved to be dismissed, Dolohov and Karkaroff left the room. Casually, her demeanour quite relaxed once more, the Captain stepped into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

            “That woman,” said Delta at once, looking at the paralysed figure. “What have you done to her?”

            A playful smile was animating the Captain’s face. She came and sat on the edge of the bed, facing Delta in her chair, their faces not three feet apart.

            “Oh, Sestia and I have just been having a bit of fun. It’s been _very_ satisfying.”

            Delta looked into her face. “Who are you?” she asked.

            “My name,” the Captain answered her, “is Indigo White. And you … you are the famous _Dealer_. So come on then, Delta. We’re all alone, and we can take all the time we need. You and I are going to have a little chat. I’m just _fascinated_ by you.”


End file.
